GIFT  OF 


.  JERRY 
OF  THE  ISLANDS 


BY 

JACK  LONDON 

Author  of  "The  Call  of  the  Wild," 

"The  Valley  of  the  Moon," 

Etc. 


fork 

THE  MACMILLAN  CX          NY 
1917 

Ml  rights  re. 


COPYRIGHT,  1916  AND  1917 

BY  ELIZA   SHEPARD  AND 

WILLARD   L.   GROWALL, 

Executors  for  the  Estate  of  Jack  London 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published,  April,   1917. 


&&•& 


he 


"JERRY" 


FOREWORD 

It  is  a  misfortune  to  some  fiction  writers  that 
fiction  and  unveracity  in  the  average  person's 
mind  mean  one  and  the  same  thing.  Several 
years  ago  I  published  a  South  Sea  novel.  The 
action  was  placed  in  the  Solomon  Islands.  The 
action  was  praised  by  the  critics  and  reviewers  as  a 
highly  creditable  effort  of  the  imagination.  As 
regards  reality  —  they  said  there  wasn't  any.  Of 
course,  as  every  one  knew,  kinky-haired  cannibals 
no  longer  obtained  on  the  earth's  surface,  much 
less  ran  around  with  nothing  on,  chopping  off  one 
another's  heads,  and,  on  occasion,  a  white  man's 
head  as  well. 

Now  listen.     I  am  writing  these  lines  in  Hono 
lulu,     Hawaii.     Yesterday,     on     the     beach     at 
Waikiki,  a  stranger  spoke  to  me.     He  mentioned 
a  mutual  friend,  Captain  Kellaf^>    When  L  wa/* 
wrecked  in  the  Solomons  on  the.    lackbirder,  th< 
Minota,   it  was   Captain   Kellar,':  master  of  the 


vi  FOREWORD 

blackbirder,  the  Eugenie,  who  rescued  me.  The 
blacks  had  taken  Captain  Kellar's  head,  the 
stranger  told  me.  He  knew.  He  had  repre 
sented  Captain  Kellar's  mother  in  settling  up  the 
estate. 

Listen.  I  received  a  letter  the  other  day  from 
Mr.  C.  M.  Woodford,  Resident  Commissioner  of 
the  British  Solomons.  He  was  back  at  his  post, 
after  a  long  furlough  to  England,  where  he  had 
entered  his  son  into  Oxford.  A  search  of  the 
shelves  of  almost  any  public  library  will  bring  to 
light  a  book  entitled,  "  A  Naturalist  Among  the 
Head  Hunters."  Mr.  C.  M.  Woodford  is  the 
naturalist.  He  wrote  the  book. 

To  return  to  his  letter.  In  the  course  of  the 
day's  work,  he  casually  and  briefly  mentioned  a 
particular  job  he  had  just  got  off  his  hands.  His 
absence  in  England  had  been  the  cause  of  delay. 
The  job  had  been  to  make  a  punitive  expedition  to 
a  neighboring  island,  and,  incidentally,  to  recover 
the  heads  of  some  mutual  friends  of  ours  —  a 
white  trader,  his  white  wife  and  children,  and  his 
white  clerk.  The  expedition  was  successful,  and 
Mr.  Woodford  conceded  his  account  of  the  epi- 


FOREWORD  vii 

sode  with  a  statement  to  the  effect:  "What 
especially  struck  me  was  the  absence  of  pain  and 
terror  in  their  faces,  which  seemed  to  express, 
rather,  serenity  and  repose  " — this,  mind  you,  of 
men  and  women  of  his  own  race  whom  he  knew 
well  and  who  had  sat  at  dinner  with  him  in  his 
own  house. 

Other  friends,  with  whom  I  have  sat  at  dinner 
in  the  brave,  rollicking  days  in  the  Solomons,  have 
since  passed  out  —  by  the  same  way.  My  good 
ness  !  I  sailed  in  the  teak-built  ketch,  the  Minota, 
on  a  blackbirding  cruise  to  Malaita,  and  I  took 
my  wife  along.  The  hatchet-marks  were  still 
raw  on  the  door  of  our  tiny  stateroom,  advertis 
ing  an  event  of  a  few  months  before.  The  event 
was  the  taking  of  Captain  Mackenzie's  head,  Cap 
tain  Mackenzie,  at  that  time,  being  master  of  the 
Minota.  As  we  sailed  in  to  Langa  Langa  the 
British  Cruiser,  the  Cambrian,  steamed  out  from 
the  shelling  of  a  village. 

It  is  not  expedient  to  burden  this  preliminary 
to  my  story  with  further  details,  which  I  do  make 
asseveration  I  possess  a-plenty.  I  hope  I  have 
given  some  assurance  that^he  adventures  of  my 


viii  FOREWORD 

dog  hero  in  this  novel  are  real  adventures  in  a 
very  real  cannibal  world.  Bless  you !  —  when  I 
took  my  wife  along  on  the  cruise  of  the  Minota, 
we  found  on  board  a  nigger-chasing,  adorable 
Irish  terrier  puppy,  who  was  smooth-coated  like 
Jerry,  and  whose  name  was  Peggy.  Had  it  not 
been  for  Peggy,  this  book  would  never  have  been 
written.  She  was  the  chattel  of  the  Minota's 
splendid  skipper.  So  much  did  Mrs.  London  and 
I  come  to  love  her  that  Mrs.  London,  after  the 
wreck  of  the  Minota,  deliberately  and  shamelessly 
stole  her  from  the  Minota's  skipper.  I  do 
further  admit  that  I  did,  deliberately  and  shame 
lessly,  compound  my  wife's  felony.  We  loved 
Peggy  so !  Dear  royal,  glorious  little  dog,  buried 
at  sea  off  the  east  coast  of  Australia ! 

I  must  add  that  Peggy,  like  Jerry,  was  born  at 
Meringe  Lagoon,  on  the  Meringe  Plantation, 
which  is  of  the  Island  of  Ysabel,  said  Ysabel 
Island  lying  next  north  of  Florida  Island,  where 
is  the  seat  of  government  and  where  dwells  the 
Resident  Commissioner,  Mr.  C.  M.  Woodford. 
Still  further  and  finally,  I  knew  Peggy's  mother 
and  father  well,  and  have  often  knov  \  the  warm 


FOREWORD  ix 

surge  in  the  heart  of  me  at  the  sight  of  that  faith 
ful  couple  running  side  by  side  along  the  beach. 
Terrence  was  his  real  name.  Her  name  was 
Biddy. 

JACK  LONDON. 

Waikiki  Beach, 
Honolulu,  Oahu,  T.  H., 

June  5,   1915. 


JERRY 


CHAPTER  I 

NOT  until  Mister  Haggin  abruptly  picked  him 
up  under  one  arm  and  stepped  into  the 
sternsheets  of  the  waiting  whaleboat,  did  Jerry 
dream  that  anything  untoward  was  to  happen  to 
him.  Mister  Haggin  was  Jerry's  beloved  master, 
and  had  been  his  beloved  master  for  the  six 
months  of  Jerry's  life.  Jerry  did  not  know 
Mister  Haggin  as  "  master,"  for  "  master  "  had 
no  place  in  Jerry's  vocabulary,  Jerry  being  a 
smooth-coated,  golden-sorrel  Irish  terrier. 

But  in  Jerry's  vocabulary,  "  Mister  Haggin  " 
possessed  all  the  definiteness  of  sound  and  mean 
ing  that  the  word  "  master  "  possesses  in  the  vo 
cabularies  of  humans  in  relation  to  their  dogs. 
<( Mister  Haggin"  was  the  sound  Jerry  had  al 
ways  heard  uttered  by  Bob,  the  clerk,  and  by 
Derby,  the  foreman  on  the  plantation,  when  they 
addressed  his  master.  Also,  Jerry  had  always 
heard  the  rare  visiting  two-legged  man-creatures, 

i 


2  JERRY 

such  as  came  on  the  Aranyi,  address  his  master  as 
Mister  Haggin. 

But  dogs  being  dogs,  in  their  dim,  inarticulate, 
brilliant,  and  heroic-worshipping  ways  misap- 
praising  humans,  dogs  think  of  their  masters,  and 
love  their  masters,  more  than  the  facts  warrant. 
"  Master  "  means  to  them,  as  "  Mister  Haggin  " 
meant  to  Jerry,  a  deal  more,  and  a  great  deal 
more,  than  it  means  to  humans.  The  human  con 
siders  himself  as  u  master  "  to  his  dog,  but  the 
dog  considers  his  master  "  God." 

Now  u  God  "  was  no  word  in  Jerry's  vocabu 
lary,  despite  the  fact  that  he  already  possessed  a 
definite  and  fairly  large  vocabulary.  "  Mister 
Haggin  "  was  the  sound  that  meant  "  God."  In 
Jerry's  heart  and  head,  in  the  mysterious  centre  of 
all  his  activities  that  is  called  consciousness,  the 
sound,  "  Mister  Haggin,"  occupied  the  same  place 
that  "  God "  occupies  in  human  consciousness. 
By  word  and  sound,  to  Jerry,  "  Mister  Haggin  " 
had  the  same  connotation  that  "  God  "  has  to 
God-worshipping  humans.  In  short,  Mister  Hag- 
gin  was  Jerry's  God. 

And  so,  when  Mister  Haggin,  or  God,  or  call  it 
what  one  will  with  the  limitations  of  language, 
picked  Jerry  up' with  imperative  abruptness,  tucked 
him  under  his  arm,  and  stepped  into  the  whale- 


JERRY  3 

boat  whose  black  crew  immediately  bent  to  the 
oars,  Jerry  was  instantly  and  nervously  aware  that 
the  unusual  had  begun  to  happen.  Never  before 
had  he  gone  out  on  board  the  Arangi,  which  he 
could  see  growing  larger  and  closer  to  each  lip- 
hissing  stroke  of  the  oars  of  the  blacks. 

Only  an  hour  before,  Jerry  had  come  down 
from  the  plantation  house  to  the  beach  to  see  the 
Arangi  depart.  Twice  before,  in  his  half  year  of 
life,  had  he  had  this  delectable  experience.  De 
lectable  it  truly  was,  running  up  and  down  the 
white  beach  of  sand-pounded  coral,  and,  under  the 
wise  guidance  of  Biddy  and  Terrence,  taking  part 
in  the  excitement  of  the  beach  and  even  adding 
to  it. 

There  was  the  nigger  chasing.  Jerry  had  been 
born  to  hate  niggers.  His  first  experiences  in  the 
world,  as  a  puling  puppy,  had  taught  him  that 
Biddy,  his  mother,  and  his  father  Terrence,  hated 
niggers.  A  nigger  was  something  to  be  snarled 
at.  A  nigger,  unless  he  were  a  house-boy,  was 
something  to  be  attacked  and  bitten  and  torn  if  he 
invaded  the  compound.  Biddy  did  it.  Terrence 
did  it.  In  doing  it,  they  served  their  God,  Mister 
Haggin.  Niggers  were  two-legged,  lesser  crea 
tures,  who  toiled  and  slaved  for  their  two-legged 
white  lords,  who  lived  in  the  labour  barracks  afar 


4  JERRY 

off,  and  who  were  so  much  lesser  and  lower  that 
they  must  not  dare  come  near  the  habitation  of 
their  lords. 

And  nigger  chasing  was  adventure.  Not  long 
after  he  had  learned  to  sprawl,  Jerry  had  learned 
that.  One  took  his  chances.  As  long  as  Mister 
Haggin,  or  Derby,  or  Bob,  was  about,  the  niggers 
took  their  chasing.  But  there  were  times  when 
the  white  lords  were  not  about.  Then  it  was 

'Ware  niggers !  "  One  must  dare  to  chase  only 
with  due  precaution.  Because  then,  beyond  the 
white  lord's  eyes,  the  niggers  had  a  way,  not 
merely  of  scowling  and  muttering,  but  of  attacking 
four-legged  dogs  with  stones  and  clubs.  Jerry 
had  seen  his  mother  so  mishandled,  and,  ere  he 
had  learned  discretion,  alone  in  the  high  grass  had 
been  himself  club-mauled  by  Godarmy,  the  black 
who  wore  a  china  door-knob  suspended  on  his 
chest  from  his  neck  on  a  string  of  sennit  braided 
from  cocoanut  fibre.  More.  Jerry  remembered 
another  high-grass  adventure,  when  he  and  his 
brother  Michael  had  fought  Owmi,  another  black 
distinguishable  for  the  cogged  wheels  of  an  alarm 
clock  on  his  chest.  Michael  had  been  so  severely 
struck  on  his  head  that  forever  after  his  left  ear 
had  remained  sore  and  had  withered  into  a  pe 
culiar  wilted  and  twisted  upward  cock. 


JERRY  5 

Still  more.  There  had  been  his  brother  Patsy, 
and  his  sister  Kathleen,  who  had  disappeared  two 
months  before,  who  had  ceased  and  no  longer 
were.  The  great  god,  Mister  Haggin,  had  raged 
up  and  down  the  plantation.  The  bush  had  been 
searched.  Half  a  dozen  niggers  had  been 
whipped.  And  Mister  Haggin  had  failed  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  Patsy's  and  Kathleen's  dis 
appearance.  But  Biddy  and  Terrence  knew.  So 
did  Michael  and  Jerry.  The  four  months'  old 
Patsy  and  Kathleen  had  gone  into  the  cooking  pot 
at  the  barracks,  and  their  puppy-soft  skins  had 
been  destroyed  in  the  fire.  Jerry  knew  this,  as 
did  his  father  and  mother  and  brother,  for  they 
had  smelled  the  unmistakable  burnt-meat  smell, 
and  Terrence,  in  his  rage  of  knowledge,  had  even 
attacked  Mogom  the  house-boy,  and  been  repri 
manded  and  cuffed  by  Mister  Haggin,  who  had 
not  smelled  and  did  not  understand,  and  who  had 
always  to  impress  discipline  on  all  creatures  under 
his  roof-tree. 

But  on  the  beach,  when  the  blacks  whose  terms 
of  service  were  up  came  with  their  trade-boxes 
on  their  heads  to  depart  on  the  Arangi,  was  the 
time  when  nigger  chasing  was  not  dangerous. 
Old  scores  could  be  settled,  and  it  was  the  last 
chance,  for  the  blacks  who  departed  on  the  Arangi 


6  JERRY 

never  came  back.  As  an  instance,  this  very  morn 
ing  Biddy,  remembering  a  secret  mauling  at  the 
hands  of  Lerumie,  laid  teeth  into  his  naked  calf 
and  threw  him  sprawling  into  the  water,  trade- 
box,  earthly  possessions  and  all,  and  then  laughed 
at  him,  sure  in  the  protection  of  Mister  Haggin, 
who  grinned  at  the  episode. 

Then,  too,  there  was  usually  at  least  one  bush- 
dog  on  the  Arangi  at  which  Jerry  and  Michael, 
from  the  beach,  could  bark  their  heads  off.  Once, 
Terrence,  who  was  nearly  as  large  as  an  Airedale 
and  fully  as  lion-hearted  —  Terrence  the  Mag 
nificent,  as  Tom  Haggin  called  him  —  had  caught 
such  a  bush-dog  trespassing  on  the  beach  and 
given  him  a  delightful  thrashing,  in  which  Jerry 
and  Michael,  and  Patsy  and  Kathleen,  who  were 
at  the  time  alive,  had  joined  with  many  shrill  yelps 
and  sharp  nips.  Jerry  had  never  forgotten  the 
ecstasy  of  the  hair,  unmistakably  doggy  in  scent, 
which  had  filled  his  mouth  at  his  one  successful 
nip.  Bush-dogs  were  dogs  —  he  recognised  them 
as  his  kind;  but  they  were  somehow  different  from 
his  own  lordly  breed,  different  and  lesser,  just  as 
the  blacks  were  compared  with  Mister  Haggin, 
Derby,  and  Bob. 

But  Jerry  did  not  continue  to  gaze  at  the  near- 
ing  Arangi.  Biddy,  wise  with  previous  bitter  be- 


JERRY  7 

reavements,  had  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sand, 
her  fore-feet  in  the  water,  and  was  mouthing  her 
woe.  That  this  concerned  him,  Jerry  knew,  for 
her  grief  tore  sharply,  albeit  vaguely,  at  his  sensi 
tive,  passionate  heart.  What  it  presaged  he  knew 
not,  save  that  it  was  disaster  and  catastrophe  con 
nected  with  him.  As  he  looked  back  at  her, 
rough-coated  and  grief-stricken,  he  could  see  Ter- 
rence  hovering  solicitously  near  her.  He,  too, 
was  rough-coated,  as  was  Michael,  and  as  Patsy 
and  Kathleen  had  been,  Jerry  being  the  one 
smooth-coated  member  of  the  family. 

Further,  although  Jerry  did  not  know  it  and 
Tom  Haggin  did,  Terrence  was  a  royal  lover  and 
a  devoted  spouse.  Jerry,  from  his  earliest  im 
pressions,  could  remember  the  way  Terrence  had 
of  running  with  Biddy,  miles  and  miles  along  the 
beaches  or  through  the  avenues  of  cocoanuts,  side 
by  side  with  her,  both  with  laughing  mouths  of 
sheer  delight.  As  these  were  the  only  dogs,  be 
sides  his  brothers  and  sisters  and  the  several  erup 
tions  of  strange  bush-dogs  that  Jerry  knew,  it 
did  not  enter  his  head  otherwise  than  that  this  was 
the  way  of  dogs,  male  and  female,  wedded  and 
faithful.  But  Tom  Haggin  knew  its  unusualness. 
"  Proper  affinities,"  he  declared,  and  repeatedly 
declared,  with  warm  voice  and  moist  eyes  of  ap- 


8  JERRY 

preciation.  "  A  gentleman,  that  Terrence,  and  a 
four-legged  proper  man.  A  man-dog,  if  there 
ever  was  one,  four-square  as  the  legs  on  the  four 
corners  of  him.  And  prepotent!  My  word! 
His  blood'd  breed  true  for  a  thousand  generations, 
and  the  cool  head  and  the  kindly  brave  heart  of 
him." 

Terrence  did  not  voice  his  sorrow,  if  sorrow 
he  had;  but  his  hovering  about  Biddy  tokened  his 
anxiety  for  her.  Michael,  however,  yielding  to 
the  contagion,  sat  beside  his  mother  and  barked 
angrily  out  across  the  increasing  stretch  of  water 
as  he  would  have  barked  at  any  danger  that  crept 
and  rustled  in  the  jungle.  This,  too,  sank  to 
Jerry's  heart,  adding  weight  to  his  sure  intui 
tion  that  dire  fate,  he  knew  not  what,  was  upon 
him. 

For  his  six  months  of  life,  Jerry  knew  a  great 
deal  and  knew  very  little.  He  knew,  without 
thinking  about  it,  without  knowing  that  he  knew, 
why  Biddy,  the  wise  as  well  as  the  brave,  did  not 
act  upon  all  the  message  that  her  heart  voiced  to 
him  and  spring  into  the  water  and  swim  after  him. 
She  had  protected  him  like  a  lioness  when  the  big 
puarka  (which,  in  Jerry's  vocabulary,  along  with 
grunts  and  squeals,  was  the  combination  of  sound, 
or  word,  for  "pig")  had  tried  to  devour  him 


JERRY  9 

where  he  was  cornered  under  the  high-piled  plan 
tation  house.  Like  a  lioness,  when  the  cook-boy 
had  struck  him  with  a  stick  to  drive  him  out  of 
the  kitchen,  had  Biddy  sprung  upon  the  black, 
receiving  without  wince  or  whimper  one  straight 
blow  from  the  stick  and  then  downing  him  and 
mauling  him  among  his  pots  and  pans  until 
dragged  (for  the  first  time  snarling)  away  by  the 
unchiding  Mister  Haggin,  who,  however,  admin 
istered  sharp  words  to  the  cook-boy  for  daring  to 
lift  hand  against  a  four-legged  dog  belonging  to  a 
god. 

Jerry  knew  why  his  mother  did  not  plunge  into 
the  water  after  him.  The  salt  sea,  as  well  as  the 
lagoons  that  led  out  of  the  salt  sea,  were  taboo. 
'  Taboo,"  as  word  or  sound,  had  no  place  in 
Jerry's  vocabulary.  But  its  definition,  or  signifi 
cance,  was  there  in  the  quickest  part  of  his  con 
sciousness.  He  possessed  a  dim,  vague,  impera 
tive  knowingness  that  it  was  not  merely  not  good, 
but  supremely  disastrous,  leading  to  the  mistily 
glimpsed  sense  of  utter  endingness  for  a  dog,  for 
any  dog,  to  go  into  the  water  where  slipped  and 
slid  and  noiselessly  paddled,  sometimes  on  top, 
sometimes  emerging  from  the  depths,  great  scaly 
monsters,  huge-jawed  and  horribly  toothed,  that 
snapped  down  and  engulfed  a  dog  in  an  instant 


io  JERRY 

just  as  the  fowls  of  Mister  Haggin  snapped  and 
engulfed  grains  of  corn. 

Often  he  had  heard  his  father  and  mother,  on 
the  safety  of  the  sand,  bark  and  rage  their  hatred 
of  those  terrible  sea-dwellers,  when,  close  to  the 
beach,  they  appeared  on  the  surface  like  logs 
awash.  u  Crocodile  "  was  no  word  in  Jerry's 
vocabulary.  It  was  an  image,  an  image  of  a  log 
awash  that  was  different  from  any  log  in  that  it 
was  alive.  Jerry,  who  heard,  registered,  and 
recognised  many  words  that  were  as  truly  tools  of 
thought  to  him  as  they  were  to  humans,  but  who, 
by  inarticulateness  of  birth  and  breed,  could  not 
utter  these  many  words,  nevertheless,  in  his  mental 
processes,  used  images  in  the  way  that  articulate 
men  use  words  in  their  own  mental  processes. 
And,  after  all,  articulate  men,  in  the  act  of  think 
ing,  willy-nilly  use  images  that  correspond  to 
words  and  that  amplify  words. 

Perhaps,  in  Jerry's  brain,  the  rising  into  the 
foreground  of  consciousness  of  an  image  of  a  log 
awash  connoted  more  intimate  and  fuller  compre 
hension  of  the  thing  being  thought  about,  than  did 
the  word  "  crocodile,"  and  its  accompanying 
image,  in  the1  foreground  of  a  human's  conscious 
ness.  For  Jerry  really  knew  more  about  croco 
diles  than  did  the  average  human.  He  could 


JERRY  ii 

smell  a  crocodile  farther  off  and  more  differentiat- 
ingly  than  could  any  man,  than  could  even  a  salt 
water  black  or  a  bushman  smell  one.  He  could 
tell  when  a  crocodile,  hauled  up  from  the  lagoon, 
lay  without  sound  or  movement,  and  perhaps 
asleep,  a  hundred  feet  away  on  the  floor  mat  of 
jungle. 

He  knew  more  of  the  language  of  crocodiles 
than  did  any  man.  He  had  better  means  and  op 
portunities  of  knowing.  He  knew  their  many 
noises  that  were  as  grunts  and  slubbers.  He  knew 
their  anger  noises,  their  fear  noises,  their  food 
noises,  their  love  noises.  And  these  noises 
were  as  definitely  words  in  his  vocabulary  as  are 
words  in  a  human's  vocabulary.  And  these  croco 
dile  noises  were  tools  of  thought.  By  them  he 
weighed  and  judged  and  determined  his  own  con 
sequent  courses  of  action,  just  like  any  human; 
or,  just  like  any  human,  lazily  resolved  upon  no 
course  of  action,  but  merely  noted  and  registered 
a  clear  comprehension  of  something  that  was  go 
ing  on  about  him  that  did  not  require  a  corre 
spondence  of  action  on  his  part. 

And  yet,  what  Jerry  did  not  know  was  very 
much.  He  did  not  know  the  size  of  the  world. 
He  did  not  know  that  this  Meringe  Lagoon, 
backed  by  high,  forested  mountains  and  fronted 


12  JERRY 

and  sheltered  by  the  off-shore  coral  islets,  was 
anything  else  than  the  entire  world.  He  did 
not  know  that  it  was  a  mere  fractional  part  of 
the  great  island  of  Ysabel,  which  was  again  one 
island  of  a  thousand,  many  of  them  greater,  com 
posing  the  Solomon  Islands  that  men  marked  on 
charts  as  a  group  of  specks  in  the  vastitude  of 
the  far-western  South  Pacific. 

It  was  true,  there  was  a  somewhere  else  or  a 
something  beyond  of  which  he  was  dimly  aware. 
But  whatever  it  was,  it  was  mystery.  Out  of  it, 
things  that  had  not  been,  suddenly  were.  Chick 
ens  and  puarkas  and  cats,  that  he  had  never  seen 
before,  had  a  way  of  abruptly  appearing  on  Me- 
ringe  Plantation.  Once,  even,  had  there  been  an 
eruption  of  strange  four-legged,  horned  and  hairy 
creatures,  the  image  of  which,  registered  in  his 
brain,  would  have  been  identifiable  in  the  brains 
of  humans  with  what  humans  worded  "  goats." 

It  was  the  same  way  with  the  blacks.  Out  of 
the  unknown,  from  the  somewhere  and  something 
else,  too  unconditional  for  him  to  know  any  of 
the  conditions,  instantly  they  appeared,  full-stat- 
ured,  walking  about  Meringe  Plantation  with 
loin-cloths  about  their  middles  and  bone  bodkins 
through  their  noses,  and  being  put  to  work  by 


JERRY  13 

Mister  Haggin,  Derby,  and  Bob.  That  their  ap 
pearance  was  coincidental  with  the  arrival  of  the 
Arangi  was  an  association  that  occurred  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course  in  Jerry's  brain.  Further,  he  did 
not  bother,  save  that  there  was  a  companion  as 
sociation,  namely,  that  their  occasional  disappear 
ance  into  the  beyond  was  likewise  coincidental  with 
the  Arangi' s  departure. 

Jerry  did  not  query  these  appearances  and  dis 
appearances.  It  never  entered  his  golden-sorrel 
head  to  be  curious  about  the  affair  or  to  attempt 
to  solve  it.  He  accepted  it  in  much  the  way  he 
accepted  the  wetness  of  water  and  the  heat  of 
the  sun.  It  was  the  way  of  life  and  of  the  world 
he  knew.  His  hazy  awareness  was  no  more  than 
an  awareness  of  something  —  which,  by  the  way, 
corresponds  very  fairly  with  the  hazy  awareness 
of  the  average  human  of  the  mysteries  of  birth 
and  death  and  of  the  beyondness  about  which  they 
have  no  definiteness  of  comprehension. 

For  all  that  any  man  may  gainsay,  the  ketch 
Arangi,  trader  and  black-birder  in  the  Solomon 
Islands,  may  have  signified  in  Jerry's  mind  as 
much  the  mysterious  boat  that  traffics  between  the 
two  worlds,  as,  at  one  time,  the  boat  that  Charon 
sculled  across  the  Styx,  signified  to  the  human 


i4  JERRY 

mind.  Out  of  the  nothingness  men  came.  Into 
the  nothingness  they  went.  And  they  came  and 
went  always  on  the  Arangi. 

And  to  the  Arangi,  this  hot-white  tropic  morn 
ing,  Jerry  went  on  the  whaleboat  under  the  arm 
of  his  Mister  Haggin,  while  on  the  beach  Biddy 
moaned  her  woe,  and  Michael,  not  sophisticated, 
barked  the  eternal  challenge  of  youth  to  the  Un 
known. 


CHAPTER  II 

FROM  the  whaleboat,  up  the  low  side  of  the 
Arangi,  and  over  her  six-inch  rail  of  teak  to 
her  teak  deck,  was  but  a  step,  and  Tom  Haggin 
made  it  easily  with  Jerry  still  under  his  arm. 
The  deck  was  cluttered  with  an  exciting  crowd. 
Exciting  the  crowd  would  have  been  to  untrav- 
elled  humans  of  civilisation,  and  exciting  it  was 
to  Jerry;  although  to  Tom  Haggin  and  Captain 
Van  Horn  it  was  a  mere  commonplace  of  every 
day  life. 

The  deck  was  small  because  the  Arangi 
was  small.  Originally  a  teak-built,  gentleman's 
yacht,  brass-fitted,  copper-fastened,  angle-ironed, 
sheathed  in  man-of-war  copper  and  with  a  fin- 
keel  of  bronze,  she  had  been  sold  into  the  Solo 
mon  Islands  trade  for  the  purpose  of  black-bird- 
ing,  or  nigger-running.  Under  the  law,  however, 
this  traffic  was  dignified  by  being  called  "  recruit- 
ing." 

The  Arangi  was  a  labour-recruit  ship  that  car 
ried  the  new-caught,  cannibal  blacks  from  remote 
islands  to  labour  on  the  new  plantations  where 

15 


1 6  JERRY 

white  men  turned  dank  and  pestilential  swamp 
and  jungle  into  rich  and  stately  cocoanut  groves. 
The  Arangi's  two  masts  were  of  Oregon  cedar, 
so  scraped  and  hot-paraffined  that  they  shone  like 
tan  opals  in  the  glare  of  sun.  Her  excessive 
sail  plan  enabled  her  to  sail  like  a  witch,  and,  on 
occasion,  gave  Captain  Van  Horn,  his  white  mate, 
and  his  black  boat's  crew  of  fifteen  as  much  as  they 
could  handle.  She  was  sixty  feet  over  all,  and 
the  cross  beams  of  her  crown  deck  had  not  been 
weakened  by  deck-houses.  The  only  breaks  — 
and  no  beams  had  been  cut  for  them  —  were  the 
main  cabin  skylight  and  companionway,  the  booby 
hatch  for'ard  over  the  tiny  forecastle,  and  the 
small  hatch  aft  that  let  down  into  the  store 
room. 

And  on  this  small  deck,  in  addition  to  the  crew, 
were  the  "  return  "  niggers  from  three  far-flung 
plantations.  By  "  return  "  was  meant  that  their 
three  years  of  contract  labour  was  up,  and  that, 
according  to  contract,  they  were  being  returned 
to  their  home  villages  on  the  wild  island  of  Ma- 
laita.  Twenty  of  them  —  familiar,  all,  to  Jerry 
—  were  from  Meringe;  thirty  of  them  came  from 
the  Bay  of  a  Thousand  Ships,  in  the  Russell 
Isles ;  and  the  remaining  twelve  from  Pennduff ryn 
on  the  east  coast  of  Guadalcanar.  In  addition 


JERRY  17 

to  these  —  and  they  were  all  on  deck,  chattering 
and  piping  in  queer,  almost  elfish,  falsetto  voices 
—  were  the  two  white  men,  Captain  Van  Horn 
and  his  Danish  mate,  Borchman,  making  a  total 
of  seventy-nine  souls. 

"  Thought  your  heart'd  failed  you  at  the  last 
moment,"  was  Captain  Van  Horn's  greeting,  a 
quick  pleasure  light  glowing  into  his  eyes  as  they 
noted  Jerry. 

"  It  was  sure  near  to  doin'  it,"  Tom  Haggin 
answered.  "  It's  only  for  you  I'd  a  done  it  anny- 
ways.  Jerry's  the  best  of  the  litter,  barrin'  Mi 
chael,  of  course,  the  two  of  them  bein'  all  that's 
left  and  no  better  than  them  that  was  lost. 
Now  that  Kathleen  was  a  sweet  dog,  the  spit  of 
Biddy  if  she'd  lived.  —  Here,  take'm." 

With  a  jerk  of  abruptness,  he  deposited  Jerry 
in  Van  Horn's  arms  and  turned  away  along  the 
deck. 

"  An'  if  bad  luck  comes  to  him  I'll  never  for 
give  you,  Skipper,"  he  flung  roughly  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  They'll  have  to  take  my  head  first,"  the  skip 
per  chuckled. 

"  An'  not  unlikely,  my  brave  laddy  buck,"  Hag- 
gin  growled.  u  Meringe  owes  Somo  four  heads, 
three  from  the  dysentery,  an'  another  wan  from 


i8  JERRY 

a  tree  fallin'  on  him  the  last  fortnight.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  chief  at  that." 

u  Yes,  and  there's  two  heads  more  that  the 
Arangi  owes  Somo,"  Van  Horn  nodded.  "  You 
recollect,  down  to  the  south'ard  last  year,  a  chap 
named  Hawkins  was  lost  in  his  whaleboat  run 
ning  the  Arli  Passage?"  Haggin,  returning 
along  the  deck,  nodded.  "  Two  of  his  boat's 
crew  were  Somo  boys.  I'd  recruited  them  for 
Ugi  Plantation.  With  your  boys,  that  makes  six 
heads  the  Arangi  owes.  But  what  of  it  ?  There's 
one  salt-water  village,  acrost  on  the  weather 
coast,  where  the  Arangi  owes  eighteen.  I  re 
cruited  them  for  Aolo,  and  being  salt-water  men 
they  put  them  on  the  Sandfly  that  was  lost  on  the 
way  to  the  Santa  Cruz.  They've  got  a  jackpot 
over  there  on  the  weather  coast  —  my  word,  the 
boy  that  could  get  my  head  would  be  a  second 
Carnegie !  A  hundred  and  fifty  pigs  and  shell- 
money  no  end  the  village's  collected  for  the  chap 
that  gets  me  and  delivers." 

"  And  they  ain't  —  yet,"  Haggin  snorted. 

"  No  fear,"  was  the  cheerful  retort. 

"  You  talk  like  Arbuckle  used  to  talk,"  Haggin 
censured.  "  Manny's  the  time  I've  heard  him 
string  it  off.  Poor  old  Arbuckle.  The  most  sure 
and  most  precautious  chap  that  ever  handled  nig- 


JERRY  19 

gers.  He  never  went  to  sleep  without  spreadin' 
a  box  of  tacks  on  the  floor,  and  when  it  wasn't 
them  it  was  crumpled  newspapers.  I  remember 
me  well,  bein'  under  the  same  roof  at  the  time  on 
Florida,  when  a  big  tomcat  chased  a  cockroach 
into  the  papers.  And  it  was  blim,  blam,  blim, 
six  times  an'  twice  over,  with  his  two  big  horse- 
pistols,  an'  the  house  perforated  like  a  cullender. 
Likewise  there  was  a  dead  tomcat.  He  could 
shoot  in  the  dark  with  never  an  aim,  pullin'  trig 
ger  with  the  second  finger  and  pointing  with  the 
first  finger  laid  straight  along  the  barrel. 

"  No,  sir,  my  laddy  buck.  He  was  the  bully 
boy  with  the  glass  eye.  The  nigger  didn't  live 
that'd  lift  his  head.  But  they  got  'm.  They  got 
'm.  He  lasted  fourteen  years,  too.  It  was  his 
cook  boy.  Hatcheted  'm  before  breakfast.  An' 
it's  well  I  remember  our  second  trip  into  the  bush 
after  what  was  left  of  'm." 

"  I  saw  his  head  after  you'd  turned  it  over  to 
the  Commissioner  at  Tulagi,"  Van  Horn  supple 
mented. 

"  An'  the  peaceful,  quiet,  every-day  face  of  him 
on  it,  with  almost  the  same  old  smile  I'd  seen  a 
thousand  times.  It  dried  on  'm  that  way  over 
the  smokin'  fire.  But  they  got  'm,  if  it  did  take 
fourteen  years.  There's  manny's  the  head  that 


20  JERRY 

goes  to  Malaita  manny's  the  time  untooken,  but 
like  the  old  pitcher,  it's  tooken  in  the  end." 

"  But  I've  got  their  goat,"  the  captain  insisted. 

'  When  trouble's  hatching  I  go  straight  to  them 

and  tell  them  what.     They  can't  get  the  hang  of 

it.     Think   I've    got    some   powerful    devil-devil 

medicine." 

Tom  Haggin  thrust  out  his  hand  in  abrupt 
good-bye,  resolutely  keeping  his  eyes  from  drop 
ping  to  Jerry  in  the  other's  arms. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  my  return  boys,"  he  cau 
tioned,  as  he  went  over  the  side,  "  till  you  land 
the  last  mother's  son  of  'm.  They've  got  no  cause 
to  love  Jerry  or  his  breed,  an'  I'd  hate  ill  to  hap 
pen  'm  at  a  nigger's  hands.  An'  in  the  dark  of 
the  night  'tis  like  as  not  he  can  do  a  fare-you-well 
overside.  Don't  take  your  eye  off  'm  till  you're 
quit  of  the  last  of  'm." 

At  the  sight  of  his  Mister  Haggin  deserting  him 
and  being  pulled  away  in  the  whaleboat,  Jerry 
wriggled  and  voiced  his  anxiety  in  a  low,  whimper 
ing  whine.  Captain  Van  Horn  snuggled  him 
closer  in  his  arms  with  a  caress  of  his  free 
hand. 

"  Don't  forget  the  agreement,"  Tom  Haggin 
called  back  across  the  widening  water.  "  If  aught 
happens  you,  Jerry's  to  come  back  to  me." 


JERRY  21 

"  I'll  make  a  paper  to  that  same  and  put  it  with 
the  ship's  articles,"  was  Van  Horn's  reply. 

Among  the  many  words  possessed  by  Jerry  was 
his  own  name ;  and  in  the  talk  of  the  two  men  he 
had  recognised  it  repeatedly,  and  he  was  aware, 
vaguely,  that  the  talk  was  related  to  the  vague  and 
unguessably  terrible  thing  that  was  happening  to 
him.  He  wriggled  more  determinedly,  and  Van 
Horn  set  him  down  on  the  deck.  He  sprang  to 
the  rail  with  more  quickness  than  was  to  be  ex 
pected  of  an  awkward  puppy  of  six  months,  and 
not  the  quick  attempt  of  Van  Horn  to  check  him 
would  have  succeeded.  But  Jerry  recoiled  from 
the  open  water  lapping  the  Arangi's  side.  The 
taboo  was  upon  him.  It  was  the  image  of  the  log 
awash  that  was  not  a  log  but  that  was  alive,  lumi 
nous  in  his  brain,  that  checked  him.  It  was  not 
reason  on  his  part,  but  inhibition  which  had  be 
come  habit. 

He  plumped  down  on  his  bob  tail,  lifted  his 
golden  muzzle  skyward,  and  emitted  a  long  puppy- 
wail  of  dismay  and  grief. 

"  It's  all  right,  Jerry,  old  man,  brace  up  and 
be  a  man-dog,"  Van  Horn  soothed  him. 

But  Jerry  was  not  to  be  reconciled.  While 
this  indubitably  was  a  white-skinned  god,  it  was 
not  his  god.  Mister  Haggin  was  his  god,  and  a 


22  JERRY 

superior  god  at  that.  Even  he,  without  thinking 
about  it  at  all,  recognised  that.  His  Mister  Hag- 
gin  wore  pants  and  shoes.  This  god  on  the  deck 
beside  him  was  more  like  a  black.  Not  only  did 
he  not  wear  pants,  and  was  bare-footed  and  bare 
legged,  but  about  his  middle,  just  like  any  black, 
he  wore  brilliant-coloured  loin-cloth,  that,  like  a 
kilt,  fell  nearly  to  his  sunburnt  knees. 

Captain  Van  Horn  was  a  handsome  man  and  a 
striking  man,  although  Jerry  did  not  know  it. 
If  ever  a  Holland  Dutchman  stepped  out  of  a 
Rembrandt  frame,  Captain  Van  Horn  was  that 
one,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  New  York  born, 
as  had  been  his  Knickerbocker  ancestors  before 
him  clear  back  to  the  time  when  New  York  was 
not  New  York  but  New  Amsterdam.  To  com 
plete  his  costume,  a  floppy  felt  hat,  distinctly  Rem- 
brandtish  in  effect,  perched  half  on  his  head  and 
mostly  over  one  ear;  a  sixpenny,  white  cotton 
undershirt  covered  his  torso ;  and  from  a  belt  about 
his  middle  dangled  a  tobacco  pouch,  a  sheath-knife, 
filled  clips  of  cartridges,  and  a  huge  automatic 
pistol  in  a  leather  holster. 

On  the  beach,  Biddy,  who  had  hushed  her  grief, 
lifted  it  again  when  she  heard  Jerry's  wail.  And 
Jerry,  desisting  a  moment  to  listen,  heard  Michael 
beside  her,  barking  his  challenge,  and  saw,  without 


JERRY  23 

being  conscious  of  it,  Michael's  withered  ear  with 
its  persistent  upward  cock.  Again,  while  Captain 
Van  Horn  and  the  mate,  Borckman,  gave  orders, 
and  while  the  Arangi's  mainsail  and  spanker  began 
to  rise  up  the  masts,  Jerry  loosed  all  his  heart  of 
woe  in  what  Bob  told  Derby  on  the  beach  was  the 
"  grandest  vocal  effort  "  he  had  ever  heard  from 
any  dog,  and  that,  except  for  being  a  bit  thin, 
Caruso  didn't  have  anything  on  Jerry.  But  the 
song  was  too  much  for  Haggin,  who,  as  soon  as 
he  had  landed,  whistled  Biddy  to  him  and  strode 
rapidly  away  from  the  beach. 

At  sight  of  her  disappearing,  Jerry  was  guilty 
of  even  more  Caruso-like  effects,  which  gave  great 
joy  to  a  Pennduffryn  return  boy  who  stood  beside 
him.  He  laughed  and  jeered  at  Jerry  with  fal 
setto  chucklings  that  were  more  like  the  jungle- 
noises  of  tree-dwelling  creatures,  half-bird  and 
half-man,  than  of  a  man,  all  man,  and  therefore 
a  god.  This  served  as  an  excellent  counter-irri 
tant.  Indignation  that  a  mere  black  should  laugh 
at  him  mastered  Jerry,  and  the  next  moment  his 
puppy  teeth,  sharp-pointed  as  needles,  had  scored 
the  astonished  black's  naked  calf  in  long  parallel 
scratches  from  each  of  which  leaped  the  instant 
blood.  The  black  sprang  away  in  trepidation, 
but  the  blood  of  Terrence  the  Magnificent  was 


24  JERRY 

true  in  Jerry,  and,  like  his  father  before  him,  he 
followed  up,  slashing  the  black's  other  calf  into 
a  ruddy  pattern. 

At  this  moment,  anchor  broken  out  and  head- 
sails  running  up,  Captain  Van  Horn,  whose  quick 
eye  had  missed  no  detail  of  the  incident,  with  an 
order  to  the  black  helmsman  turned  to  applaud 
Jerry. 

"  Go  to  it,  Jerry !  "  he  encouraged.  "  Get  him ! 
Shake  him  down !  Sick  him !  Get  him !  Get 
him !  " 

The  black,  in  defence,  aimed  a  kick  at  Jerry, 
who,  leaping  in  instead  of  away  —  another  inherit 
ance  from  Terrence  —  avoided  the  bare  foot  and 
printed  a  further  red  series  of  parallel  lines  on  the 
dark  leg.  This  was  too  much,  and  the  black, 
afraid  more  of  Van  Horn  than  of  Jerry,  turned 
and  fled  for'ard,  leaping  to  safety  on  top  of  the 
eight  Lee-Enfield  rifles  that  lay  on  top  of  the 
cabin  skylight  and  that  were  guarded  by  one  mem 
ber  of  the  boat's  crew.  About  the  skylight  Jerry 
stormed,  leaping  up  and  falling  back,  until  Cap 
tain  Van  Horn  called  him  off. 

"  Some  nigger-chaser,  that  pup,  some  nigger- 
chaser  !  "  Van  Horn  confided  to  Borckman,  as 
he  bent  to  pat  Jerry  and  give  him  due  reward  of 
praise. 


JERRY  25 

And  Jerry,  under  this  caressing  hand  of  a  god, 
albeit  it  did  not  wear  pants,  forgot  for  a  moment 
longer  the  fate  that  was  upon  him. 

"  He's  a  lion-dog  —  more  like  an  Airedale  than 
an  Irish  terrier,"  Van  Horn  went  on  to  his  mate, 
still  petting.  "  Look  at  the  size  of  him  already. 
Look  at  the  bone  of  him.  Some  chest  that.  He's 
got  the  endurance.  And  he'll  be  some  dog  when 
he  grows  up  to  those  feet  of  his." 

Jerry  had  just  remembered  his  grief  and  was 
starting  a  rush  across  the  deck  to  the  rail  to  gaze 
at  Meringe  growing  smaller  every  second  in  the 
distance,  when  a  gust  of  the  Southeast  Trade  smote 
the  sails  and  pressed  the  Arangi  down.  And 
down  the  deck,  slanted  for  the  moment  to  forty- 
five  degrees,  Jerry  slipped  and  slid,  vainly  claw 
ing  at  the  smooth  surface  for  a  hold.  He  fetched 
up  against  the  foot  of  the  mizzenmast,  while  Cap 
tain  Van  Horn,  with  the  sailor's  eye  for  the  coral 
patch  under  his  bow,  gave  the  order  "  Hard 
a-lee!" 

Borckman  and  the  black  steersman  echoed  his 
words,  and,  as  the  wheel  spun  down,  the  Arangi, 
with  the  swiftness  of  a  witch,  rounded  into  the 
wind  and  attained  a  momentary  even  keel  to  the 
flapping  of  her  headsails  and  a  shifting  of  head- 
sheets. 


26  JERRY 

Jerry,  still  intent  on  Meringe,  took  advantage 
of  the  level  footing  to  recover  himself  and  scram 
ble  toward  the  rail.  But  he  was  deflected  by  the 
crash  of  the  main-sheet  blocks  on  the  stout  deck- 
traveller,  as  the  mainsail,  emptied  of  the  wind  and 
feeling  the  wind  on  the  other  side,  swung  crazily 
across  above  him.  He  cleared  the  danger  of  the 
main-sheet  with  a  wild  leap  (although  no  less  wild 
had  been  Van  Horn's  leap  to  rescue  him),  and 
found  himself  directly  under  the  main-boom  with 
the  huge  sail  looming  above  him  as  if  about  to 
fall  upon  him  and  crush  him. 

It  was  Jerry's  first  experience  with  sails  of  any 
sort.  He  did  not  know  the  beasts,  much  less  the 
way  of  them,  but,  in  his  vivid  recollection,  when 
he  had  been  a  tiny  puppy,  burned  the  memory  of 
the  hawk,  in  the  middle  of  the  compound,  that 
had  dropped  down  upon  him  from  out  of  the  sky. 
Under  that  colossal  threatened  impact  he  crouched 
down  to  the  deck.  Above  him,  falling  upon  him 
like  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  was  a  winged  hawk  un- 
thinkably  vaster  than  the  one  he  had  encountered. 
But  in  his  crouch  was  no  hint  of  cower.  His 
crouch  was  a  gathering  together,  an  assembling 
of  all  the  parts  of  him  under  the  rule  of  the  spirit 
of  him,  for  the  spring  upward  to  meet  in  mid 
career  this  monstrous,  menacing  thing. 


JERRY  27 

But,  the  succeeding  fraction  of  a  moment,  so 
that  Jerry,  leaping,  missed  even  the  shadow  of  it, 
the  mainsail,  with  a  second  crash  of  blocks  on 
traveller,  had  swung  across  and  filled  on  the  other 
tack. 

Van  Horn  had  missed  nothing  of  it.  Before, 
in  his  time,  he  had  seen  young  dogs  frightened 
into  genuine  fits  by  their  first  encounters  with 
heaven-filling,  sky-obscuring,  down-impending 
sails.  This  was  the  first  dog  he  had  seen  leap 
with  bared  teeth,  undismayed,  to  grapple  with  the 
huge  unknown. 

With  spontaneity  of  admiration,  Van  Horn 
swept  Jerry  from  the  deck  and  gathered  him  into 
his  arms. 


CHAPTER  III 

JERRY  quite  forgot  Meringe  for  the  time 
being.  As  he  well  remembered,  the  hawk 
had  been  sharp  of  beak  and  claw.  This  air-flap 
ping,  thunder-crashing  monster  needed  watching. 
And  Jerry,  crouching  for  the  spring  and  ever 
struggling  to  maintain  his  footing  on  the  slippery, 
heeling  deck,  kept  his  eyes  on  the  mainsail  and  ut 
tered  low  growls  at  any  display  of  movement  on 
its  part. 

The  Arangi  was  beating  out  between  the  coral 
patches  of  the  narrow  channel  into  the  teeth  of 
the  brisk  trade  wind.  This  necessitated  frequent 
tacks,  so  that,  overhead,  the  mainsail  was  ever 
swooping  across  from  port  tack  to  starboard  tack 
and  back  again,  making  air-noises  like  the  swish 
of  wings,  sharply  rat-tat-tatting  its  reef  points 
and  loudly  crashing  its  main-sheet  gear  along  the 
traveller.  Half  a  dozen  times,  as  it  swooped 
overhead,  Jerry  leaped  for  it,  mouth  open  to 
grip,  lips  writhed  clear  of  the  clean  puppy  teeth 
that  shone  in  the  sun  like  gems  of  ivory. 

Failing  in  every  leap,  Jerry  achieved  a  judg- 


JERRY  29 

ment.  In  passing,  it  must  be  noted  that  this  judg 
ment  was  only  arrived  at  by  a  definite  act  of  rea 
soning.  Out  of  a  series  of  observations  of  the 
thing,  in  which  it  had  threatened,  always  in  the 
same  way,  a  series  of  attacks,  he  had  found  that 
it  had  not  hurt  him  nor  come  in  contact  with  him 
at  all.  Therefore  —  although  he  did  not  stop 
to  think  that  he  was  thinking  —  it  was  not  the 
dangerous,  destroying  thing  he  had  first  deemed 
it.  It  might  be  well  to  be  wary  of  it,  though  al 
ready  it  had  taken  its  place  in  his  classification 
of  things  that  appeared  terrible  but  were  not  ter 
rible.  Thus,  he  had  learned  not  to  fear  the  roar 
of  the  wind  among  the  palms  when  he  lay  snug 
on  the  plantation-house  veranda,  nor  the  onslaught 
of  the  waves,  hissing  and  rumbling  into  harmless 
foam  on  the  beach  at  his  feet. 

Many  times,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  alertly 
and  nonchalantly,  almost  with  a  quizzical  know- 
ingness,  Jerry  cocked  his  head  at  the  mainsail 
when  it  made  sudden  swooping  movements  or 
slacked  and  tautened  its  crashing  sheet-gear.  But 
he  no  longer  crouched  to  spring  for  it.  That 
had  been  the  first  lesson,  and  quickly  mastered. 

Having  settled  the  mainsail,  Jerry  returned  in 
mind  to  Meringe.  But  there  was  no  Meringe, 
no  Biddy  and  Terrence  and  Michael  on  the  beach; 


30  JERRY 

no  Mister  Haggin  and  Derby  and  Bob;  no  beach, 
no  land  with  the  palm  trees  near  and  the  moun 
tains  afar  everlastingly  lifting  their  green  peaks 
into  the  sky.  Always,  to  starboard  or  to  port, 
at  the  bow  or  over  the  stern,  when  he  stood 
up,  resting  his  fore-feet  on  the  six-inch  rail  and 
gazing,  he  saw  only  the  ocean,  broken-faced  and 
turbulent,  yet  orderly  marching  its  white-crested 
seas  before  the  drive  of  the  trade. 

Had  he  had  the  eyes  of  a  man,  nearly  two 
yards  higher  than  his  own  from  the  deck,  and 
had  they  been  the  trained  eyes  of  a  man,  sailor- 
man  at  that,  Jerry  could  have  seen  the  low  blur 
of  Ysabel  to  the  north,  and  the  blur  of  Florida 
to  the  south,  ever  taking  on  definiteness  of  detail 
as  the  Arangi  sagged  close-hauled,  with  a  good 
full,  port-tacked  to  the  southeast  trade.  And  had 
he  had  the  advantage  of  the  marine  glassses  with 
which  Captain  Van  Horn  elongated  the  range  of 
his  eyes,  he  could  have  seen,  to  the  east,  the  far 
peaks  of  Malaita  lifting  like  shadowed  pink  cloud- 
puffs  above  the  sea-rim. 

But  the  present  was  very  immediate  with  Jerry. 
He  had  early  learned  the  iron  law  of  the  immedi 
ate,  and  to  accept  what  was  when  it  was,  rather 
than  to  strain  after  far  other  things.  The  sea 
was.  The  land  no  longer  was.  The  Arangi  cer- 


JERRY  31 

tainly  was,  along  with  the  life  that  cluttered  her 
deck.  And  he  proceeded  to  get  acquainted  with 
what  was  —  in  short,  to  know  and  to  adjust  him 
self  to  his  new  environment. 

His  first  discovery  was  delightful  —  a  wild-dog 
puppy  from  the  Ysabel  bush,  being  taken  back 
to  Malaita  by  one  of  the  Meringe  return  boys. 
In  age  they  were  the  same,  but  their  breeding 
was  different.  The  wild-dog  was  what  he  was, 
a  wild-dog,  cringing  and  sneaking,  his  ears  for 
ever  down,  his  tail  forever  between  his  legs,  for 
ever  apprehending  fresh  misfortune  and  ill-treat 
ment  to  fall  on  him,  forever  fearing  and  resent 
ful,  fending  off  threatened  hurt  with  lips  curling 
malignantly  from  his  puppy  fangs,  cringing  under 
a  blow,  squalling  his  fear  and  his  pain,  and  ready 
always  for  a  treacherous  slash  if  luck  and  safety 
favoured. 

The  wild-dog  was  maturer  than  Jerry,  larger- 
bodied,  and  wiser  in  wickedness;  but  Jerry  was 
blue-blooded,  right-selected,  and  valiant.  The 
wild-dog  had  come  out  of  a  selection  equally 
rigid;  but  it  was  a  different  sort  of  selection. 
The  bush  ancestors  from  whom  he  had  de 
scended,  had  survived  by  being  fear-selected. 
They  had  never  voluntarily  fought  against  odds. 
In  the  open  they  had  never  attacked  save  when 


32  JERRY 

the  prey  was  weak  or  defenceless.  In  place  of 
courage,  they  had  lived  by  creeping,  and  slink 
ing,  and  hiding  from  danger.  They  had  been 
selected  blindly  by  nature,  in  a  cruel  and  ignoble 
environment,  where  the  prize  of  living  was  to  be 
gained,  in  the  main,  by  the  cunning  of  cowardice, 
and,  on  occasion,  by  desperateness  of  defence 
when  in  a  corner. 

But  Jerry  had  been  love-selected  and  courage- 
selected.  His  ancestors  had  been  deliberately 
and  consciously  chosen  by  men,  who,  somewhere 
in  the  forgotten  past,  had  taken  the  wild-dog  and 
made  it  into  the  thing  they  visioned  and  admired 
and  desired  it  to  be.  It  must  never  fight  like  a 
rat  in  a  corner,  because  it  must  never  be  rat-like 
and  slink  into  a  corner.  Retreat  must  be  unthink 
able.  The  dogs  in  the  past  who  retreated  had 
been  rejected  by  men.  They  had  not  become 
Jerry's  ancestors.  The  dogs  selected  for  Jerry's 
ancestors  had  been  the  brave  ones,  the  up-stand 
ing  and  out-dashing  ones,  who  flew  into  the  face 
of  danger  and  battled  and  died,  but  who  never 
gave  grpund.  And,  since  it  is  the  way  of  kind 
to  beget  kind,  Jerry  was  what  Terrence  was  before 
him,  and  what  Terrence's  forefathers  had  been 
for  a  long  way  back. 

So  it  was  that  Jerry,  when  he  chanced  upon  the 


JERRY  33 

wild-dog  stowed  shrewdly  away  from  the  wind 
in  the  lee-corner  made  by  the  mainmast  and  the 
cabin  skylight,  did  not  stop  to  consider  whether 
the  creature  was  bigger  or  fiercer  than  he.  All 
he  knew  was  that  it  was  the  ancient  enemy  — 
the  wild-dog  that  had  not  come  in  to  the  fires  of 
man.  With  a  wild  paean  of  joy  that  attracted 
Captain  Van  Horn's  all-hearing  ears  and  all-see 
ing  eyes,  Jerry  sprang  to  the  attack.  The  wild 
puppy  gained  his  feet  in  full  retreat  with  incred 
ible  swiftness,  but  was  caught  by  the  rush  of 
Jerry's  body  and  rolled  over  and  over  on  the 
sloping  deck.  And  as  he  rolled,  and  felt  sharp 
teeth  pricking  him,  he  snapped  and  snarled,  alter 
nating  snarls  with  whimperings  and  squallings  of 
terror,  pain,  and  abject  humility. 

And  Jerry  was  a  gentleman,  which  is  to  say  he 
was  a  gentle  dog.  He  had  been  so  selected.  Be 
cause. the  thing  did  not  fight  back,  because  it  was 
abject  and  whining,  because  it  was  helpless  under 
him,  he  abandoned  the  attack,  disengaging  him 
self  from  the  top  of  the  tangle  into  which  he  had 
slid  in  the  lee  scuppers.  He  did  not  think  about 
it.  He  did  it  because  he  was  so  made.  He  stood 
up  on  the  reeling  deck,  feeling  excellently  satis 
fied  with  the  delicious,  wild-doggy  smell  of  hair 
in  his  mouth  and  consciousness,  and  in  his  ears 


34  JERRY 

and  consciousness  the  praising  cry  of  Captain  Van 
Horn:  "Good  boy,  Jerry!  You're  the  goods, 
Jerry!  Some  dog,  eh!  Some  dog!" 

As  he  stalked  away,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
Jerry  displayed  pride  in  himself,  his  gait  being 
a  trifle  stiff-legged,  the  cocking  of  his  head  back 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  whining  wild-dog  having 
all  the  articulateness  of:  "Well,  I  guess  I  gave 
you  enough  this  time.  You'll  keep  out  of  my  way 
after  this." 

Jerry  continued  the  exploration  of  his  new  and 
tiny  world  that  was  never  at  rest,  forever  lift 
ing,  heeling,  and  lunging  on  the  rolling  face  of 
the  sea.  There  were  the  Meringe  return  boys. 
He  made  it  a  point  to  identify  all  of  them,  re 
ceiving,  while  he  did  so,  scowls  and  mutterings, 
and  reciprocating  with  cocky  bullyings  and  threat- 
enings.  Being  so  trained,  he  walked  on  his  four 
legs  superior  to  them,  two-legged  though  they 
were;  for  he  had  moved  and  lived  always  under 
the  aegis  of  the  great  two-legged  and  be-trousered 
god,  Mister  Haggin. 

Then  there  were  the  strange  return  boys,  from 
Pennduffryn  and  the  Bay  of  a  Thousand  Ships. 
He  insisted  on  knowing  them  all.  He  might  need 
to  know  them  in  some  future  time.  He  did  not 
think  this.  He  merely  equipped  himself  with 


JERRY  35 

knowledge  of  his  environment  without  any  aware 
ness  of  prevision  or  without  bothering  about  the 
future. 

In  his  own  way  of  acquiring  knowledge,  he 
quickly  discovered,  just  as  on  the  plantation  house- 
boys  were  different  from  field-boys,  that  on  the 
Arangi  there  was  a  classification  of  boys  different 
from  the  return  boys.  This  was  the  boat's  crew. 
The  fifteen  blacks  who  composed  it  were  closer 
than  the  others  to  Captain  Van  Horn.  They 
seemed  more  directly  to  belong  to  the  Arangi  and 
to  him.  They  laboured  under  him  at  word  of 
command,  steering  at  the  wheel,  pulling  and  haul 
ing  on  ropes,  heaving  water  upon  the  deck  from 
overside  and  scrubbing  with  brooms. 

Just  as  Jerry  had  learned  from  Mister  Haggin 
that  he  must  be  more  tolerant  of  the  house-boys 
than  of  the  field-boys  if  they  trespassed  on  the 
compound,  so,  from  Captain  Van  Horn,  he 
learned  he  must  be  more  tolerant  of  the  boat's 
crew  than  of  the  return  boys.  He  had  less  license 
with  them,  more  license  with  the  others.  As  long 
as  Captain  Van  Horn  did  not  want  his  boat's 
crew  chased,  it  was  Jerry's  duty  not  to  chase. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  never  forgot  that  he  was 
a  white-god's  dog.  While  he  might  not  chase 
these  particular  blacks,  he  declined  familiarity 


36  JERRY 

with  them.  He  kept  his  eye  on  them.  He  had 
seen  blacks  as  tolerated  as  these,  lined  up  and 
whipped  by  Mister  Haggin.  They  occupied  an 
intermediate  place  in  the  scheme  of  things,  and 
they  were  to  be  watched  in  case  they  did  not  keep 
their  place.  He  accorded  them  room,  but  he  did 
not  accord  them  equality.  At  the  best,  he  could 
be  stand-offishly  considerate  of  them. 

He  made  thorough  examination  of  the  galley, 
a  rude  affair,  open  on  the  open  deck,  exposed  to 
wind  and  rain  and  storm,  a  small  stove  that  was 
not  even  a  ship's  stove,  on  which  somehow,  aided 
by  strings  and  wedges,  commingled  with  much 
smoke,  two  blacks  managed  to  cook  the  food  for 
the  four-score  persons  on  board. 

Next,  he  was  interested  by  a  strange  proceed 
ing  on  the  part  of  the  boat's  crew.  Upright 
pipes,  serving  as  stanchions,  were  being  screwed 
into  the  top  of  the  Arangl's  rail  so  that  they 
served  to  support  three  strands  of  barbed  wire 
that  ran  completely  around  the  vessel,  being 
broken  only  at  the  gangway  for  a  narrow  space 
of  fifteen  inches.  That  this  was  a  precaution 
against  danger,  Jerry  sensed  without  a  passing 
thought  to  it.  All  his  life,  from  his  first  impres 
sions  of  life,  had  been  passed  in  the  heart  of 
danger,  ever-impending,  from  the  blacks.  In 


JERRY  37 

the  plantation  house  at  Meringe,  always  the  sev 
eral  white  men  had  looked  askance  at  the  many 
blacks  who  toiled  for  them  and  belonged  to  them. 
In  the  living-room,  where  were  the  eating  table, 
the  billiard  table,  and  the  phonograph,  stood 
stands  of  rifles,  and  in  each  bedroom,  beside  each 
bed,  ready  to  hand,  had  been  revolvers  and  rifles. 
As  well,  Mister  Haggin  and  Derby  and  Bob  had 
always  carried  revolvers  in  their  belts  when  they 
left  the  house  to  go  among  their  blacks. 

Jerry  knew  these  noise-making  things  for  what 
they  were  —  instruments  of  destruction  and  death. 
He  had  seen  live  things  destroyed  by  them,  such 
as  puarkas,  goats,  birds,  and  crocodiles.  By 
means  of  such  things  the  white  gods,  by  their  will, 
crossed  space  without  crossing  it  with  their  bodies, 
and  destroyed  live  things.  Now  he,  in  order  to 
damage  anything,  had  to  cross  space  with  his  body 
to  get  to  it.  He  was  different.  He  was  limited. 
All  impossible  things  were  possible  to  the  unlimi 
ted,  two-legged  white-gods.  In  a  way,  this  abil 
ity  of  theirs  to  destroy  across  space  was  an 
elongation  of  claw  and  fang.  Without  ponder 
ing  it,  or  being  conscious  of  it,  he  accepted  it  as 
he  accepted  the  rest  of  the  mysterious  world  about 
him. 

Once,  even,  had  Jerry  seen  his  Mister  Haggin 


38  JERRY 

deal  death  at  a  distance  in  another  noise-way. 
From  the  veranda  he  had  seen  him  fling  sticks 
of  exploding  dynamite  into  a  screeching  mass  of 
blacks  who  had  come  raiding  from  the  Beyond  in 
the  long  war  canoes,  beaked  and  black,  carved 
and  inlaid  with  mother  of  pearl,  which  they  had 
left  hauled  up  on  the  beach  at  the  door  of  Mer- 
inge. 

Many  precautions  by  the  white  gods  had  Jerry 
been  aware  of,  and  so,  sensing  it  almost  in  intan 
gible  ways,  as  a  matter  of  course  he  accepted  this 
barbed  wire  fence  on  the  floating  world  as  a  mark 
of  the  persistence  of  danger.  Disaster  and  death 
hovered  close  about,  waiting  the  chance  to  leap 
upon  life  and  drag  it  down.  Life  had  to  be  very 
alive  in  order  to  live,  was  the  law  Jerry  had 
learned  from  the  little  of  life  he  knew. 

Watching  the  rigging  up  of  the  barbed  wire, 
Jerry's  next  adventure  was  an  encounter  with  Ler- 
umie,  the  return  boy  from  Meringe,  who,  only 
that  morning,  on  the  beach  embarking,  had  been 
rolled  by  Biddy,  along  with  his  possessions,  into 
the  surf.  The  encounter  occurred  on  the  star 
board  side  of  the  skylight,  alongside  of  which 
Lerumie  was  standing  as  he  gazed  into  a  cheap 
trade-mirror  and  combed  his  kinky  hair  with  a 
hand-carved  comb  of  wood. 


JERRY  39 

Jerry,  scarcely  aware  of  Lerumie's  presence, 
was  trotting  past  on  his  way  aft  to  where  Borck- 
man,  the  mate,  was  superintending  the  stringing 
of  the  barbed  wire  to  the  stanchions.  And 
Lerumie,  with  a  side-long  look  to  see  if  the  deed 
meditated  for  his  foot  was  screened  from  obser 
vation,  aimed  a  kick  at  the  son  of  his  four-legged 
enemy.  His  bare  foot  caught  Jerry  on  the  sensi 
tive  end  of  his  recently  bobbed  tail,  and  Jerry,  out 
raged,  with  sense  of  sacrilege  committed  upon 
him,  went  instantly  wild. 

Captain  Van  Horn,  standing  aft  on  the  port 
quarter,  gauging  the  slant  of  the  wind  on  the  sails 
and  the  inadequate  steering  of  the  black  at  the 
wheel,  had  not  seen  Jerry  because  of  the  interven 
ing  skylight.  But  his  eyes  had  taken  in  the 
shoulder  movement  of  Lerumie  that  advertised 
the  balancing  on  one  foot  while  the  other  foot 
had  kicked.  And  from  what  followed,  he  divined 
what  had  already  occurred. 

Jerry's  outcry,  as  he  sprawled,  whirled,  sprang, 
and  slashed,  was  a  veritable  puppy-scream  of 
outrage.  He  slashed  ankle  and  foot  as  he  re 
ceived  the  second  kick  in  mid-air;  and,  although 
he  slid  clear  down  the  slope  of  deck  into  the 
scuppers,  he  left  on  the  black  skin  the  red  tracery 
of  his  puppy-needle  teeth.  Still  screaming  his 


40  JERRY 

indignation,  he  clawed  his  way  back  up  the  steep 
wooden  hill. 

Lerumie,  with  another  side-long  look,  knew  that 
he  was  observed  and  that  he  dare  not  go  to  ex 
tremes.  He  fled  along  the  skylight  to  escape 
down  the  companionway,  but  was  caught  by 
Jerry's  sharp  teeth  in  his  calf.  Jerry,  attacking 
blindly,  got  in  the  way  of  the  black's  feet.  A 
long,  stumbling  fall,  accelerated  by  a  sudden 
increase  of  wind  in  the  sails,  ensued,  and  Lerumie, 
vainly  trying  to  catch  his  footing,  fetched  up 
against  the  three  strands  of  barbed  wire  on  the 
lee  rail. 

The  deck-full  of  blacks  shrieked  their  merri 
ment,  and  Jerry,  his  rage  undiminished,  his  im 
mediate  antagonist  out  of 'the  battle,  mistaking 
himself  as  the  object  of  the  laughter  of  the  blacks, 
turned  upon  them,  charging  and  slashing  the  many 
legs  that  fled  before  him.  They  dropped  down 
the  cabin  and  forecastle  companionways,  ran  out 
the  bowsprit,  and  sprang  into  the  rigging  till  they 
were  perched  everywhere  in  the  air  like  monstrous 
birds.  In  the  end,  the  deck  belonged  to  Jerry, 
save  for  the  boat's  crew;  for  he  had  already 
learned  to  differentiate.  Captain  Van  Horn  was 
hilariously  vocal  of  his  praise,  calling  Jerry  to 
him  and  giving  him  man-thumps  of  joyful  admira- 


JERRY  41 

tion.  Next,  the  captain  turned  to  his  many  pas 
sengers  and  orated  in  beche-de-mer  English. 

"  Hey!  You  fella  boy!  I  make  'm  big  fella 
talk.  This  fella  dog  he  belong  along  me.  One 
fella  hurt  'm  that  fella  dog  —  my  word !  —  me 
cross  too  much  along  that  fella  boy.  I  knock  'm 
seven  bells  outa  that  fella  boy.  You  take  'm  care 
leg  belong  you.  I  take  'm  care  dog  belong  me. 
Savve?" 

And  the  passengers,  still  perched  in  the  air,  with 
gleaming  black  eyes  and  with  querulous  chirpings 
one  to  another,  accepted  the  white  man's  law. 
Even  Lerumie,  variously  lacerated  by  the  barbed 
wire,  did  not  scowl  nor  mutter  threats.  Instead, 
and  bringing  a  roar  of  laughter  from  his  fellows 
and  a  twinkle  into  the  skipper's  eyes,  he  rubbed 
questing  fingers  over  his  scratches  and  murmured : 
"  My  word!  Some  big  fella  dog  that  fella!  " 

It  was  not  that  Jerry  was  unkindly.  Like 
Biddy  and  Terrence,  he  was  fierce  and  unafraid; 
which  attributes  were  wrapped  up  in  his  heredity. 
And,  like  Biddy  and  Terrence,  he  delighted  'in 
nigger-chasing,  which,  in  turn,  was  a  matter  of 
training.  From  his  earliest  puppyhood  he  had 
been  so  trained.  Niggers  were  niggers,  but  white 
men  were  gods,  and  it  was  the  white-gods  who  had 
trained  Tiim  to  chase  niggers  and  keepj  them  in 


42  JERRY 

their  proper  lesser  place  in  the  world.  All  the 
world  was  held  in  the  hollow  of  the  white  man's 
hands.  The  niggers  —  well,  had  not  he  seen 
them  always  compelled  to  remain  in  their  lesser 
place?  Had  he  not  seen  them,  on  occasion,  triced 
up  to  the  palm  trees  of  the  Meringe  compound 
and  their  backs  lashed  to  ribbons  by  the  white 
gods?  Small  wonder  that  a  high-born  Irish  ter 
rier,  in  the  arms  of  love  of  the  white-god,  should 
look  at  niggers  through  white-god's  eyes,  and  act 
toward  niggers  in  the  way  that  earned  the  white- 
god's  reward  of  praise. 

It  was  a  busy  day  for  Jerry.  Everything  about 
the  Arangi  was  new  and  strange,  and  so  crowded 
was  she  that  exciting  things  were  continually  hap 
pening.  He  had  another  encounter  with  the  wild- 
dog,  who  treacherously  attacked  him  in  the  flank 
from  ambuscade.  Trade  boxes  belonging  to  the 
blacks  had  been  irregularly  piled  so  that  a  small 
space  was  left  between  two  boxes  in  the  lower 
tier.  From  this  hole,  as  Jerry  trotted  past  in 
response  to  a  call  from  the  skipper,  the  wild-dog 
sprang,  scratched  his  sharp  puppy-teeth  into 
Jerry's  yellow-velvet  hide,  and  scuttled  back  into 
his  lair. 

Again  Jerry's  feelings  were  outraged.  He 
could  understand  flank  attack.  Often  "  he  and 


JERRY  43 

Michael  had  played  at  that,  although  it  had  only 
been  playing.  But  to  retreat  without  fighting 
from  a  fight  once  started,  was  alien  to  Jerry's  ways 
and  nature,  With  righteous  wrath  he  charged 
into  the  hole  after  his  enemy.  But  this  was  where 
the  wild-dog  fought  to  best  advantage  —  in  a  cor 
ner.  When  Jerry  sprang  up  in  the  confined  space 
he  bumped  his  head  on  the  box  above,  and  the 
next  moment  felt  the  snarling  impact  of  the  other's 
teeth  against  his  own  teeth  and  jaw. 

There  was  no  getting  at  the  wild-dog,  no  chance 
to  rush  against  him,  whole  heartedly,  with  gener 
ous  full  weight  in  the  attack.  All  Jerry  could  do 
was  to  crawl  and  squirm  and  belly  forward,  and 
always  he  was  met  by  a  snarling  mouthful  of  teeth. 
Even  so,  he  would  have  got  the  wild-dog  in  the 
end,  had  not  Borckman,  in  passing,  reached  in 
and  dragged  Jerry  out  by  a  hind  leg.  Again  came 
Captain  Van  Horn's  call,  and  Jerry,  obedient, 
trotted  on  aft. 

A  meal  was  being  served  on  deck  in  the  shade 
of  the  spanker,  and  Jerry,  sitting  between  two 
men,  received  his  share.  Already  he  had  made 
the  generalisation  that  of  the  two,  the  captain 
was  the  superior  god,  giving  many  orders  that 
the  mate  obeyed.  The  mate,  on  the  other  hand, 
gave  orders  to  the  blacks,  but  never  did  he  give 


44  JERRY 

orders  to  the  captain.  Furthermore,  Jerry  was 
developing  a  liking  for  the  captain,  so  he  snug 
gled  close  to  him.  When  he  put  his  nose  into 
the  captain's  plate,  he  was  gently  reprimanded. 
But  once,  when  he  merely  sniffed  at  the  mate's 
steaming  tea  cup,  he  received  a  snub  on  the  nose 
from  the  mate's  grimy  forefinger.  Also,  the  mate 
did  not  offer  him  food. 

Captain  Van  Horn  gave  him,  first  of  all,  a  pan 
nikin  of  oatmeal  mush,  generously  flooded  with 
condensed  cream  and  sweetened  with  a  heaping 
spoonful  of  sugar.  After  that,  on  occasion,  he 
gave  him  morsels  of  buttered  bread  and  slivers  of 
fried  fish  from  which  he  first  carefully  picked  the 
tiny  bones. 

His  beloved  Mister  Haggin  had  never  fed  him 
from  the  table  at  meal  time,  and  Jerry  was  beside 
himself  with  the  joy  of  this  delightful  experience. 
And,  being  young,  he  allowed  his  eagerness  to  take 
possession  of  him,  so  that  soon  he  was  unduly 
urging  the  captain  for  more  pieces  of  fish  and 
of  bread  and  butter.  Once,  he  even  barked  his  de 
mand.  This  put  the  idea  into  the  captain's  head, 
who  began  immediately  to  teach  him  to  "  speak." 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes,  he  had  learned  to 
speak  softly,  and  to  speak  only  once  —  a  low, 
mellow,  bell-like  bark  of  a  single  syllable.  Also, 


JERRY  45 

in  this  first  five  minutes,  he  had  learned  to  "  sit 
down,"  as  distinctly  different  from  "lie  down;" 
and  that  he  must  sit  down  whenever  he  spoke,  and 
that  he  must  speak  without  jnmping  or  moving 
from  the  sitting  position,  and  then  must  wait  until 
the  piece  of  food  was  passed  to  him. 

Further,  he  had  added  three  words  to  his  vo 
cabulary.  Forever  after,  "  speak  "  would  mean 
to  him  "  speak,"  and  "  sit  down  "  would  mean 
"  sit  down  "  and  would  not  mean  "  lie  down." 
The  third  addition  to  his  vocabulary  was  "  Skip 
per."  That  was  the  name  he  had  heard  the  mate 
repeatedly  call  Captain  Van  Horn.  And  just  as 
Jerry  knew  that  when  a  human  called  "  Michael," 
that  the  call  referred  to  Michael  and  not  to  Biddy, 
or  Terrence,  or  himself,  so  he  knew  that  Skipper 
was  the  name  of  the  two-legged  white  master  of 
this  new  floating  world. 

'  That  isn't  just  a  dog,"  was  Van  Horn's  con 
clusion  to  the  mate.  "  There's  a  sure  enough 
human  brain  there  behind  those  brown  eyes. 
He's  five  months  old.  Any  boy  of  five  years 
would  be  an  infant  phenomenon  to  learn  in  five 
minutes  all  that  he's  just  learned.  Why,  Gott- 
fer-dang,  a  dog's  brain  has  to  be  like  a  man's. 
If  he  does  things  like  a  man,  he's  got  to  think 
like  a  man." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  companionway  into  the  main  cabin  was 
a  steep  ladder,  and  down  this,  after  his 
meal,  Jerry  was  carried  by  the  captain.  The 
cabin  was  a  long  room,  extending  for  the  full 
width  of  the  Arangi  from  a  lazarette  aft  to  a 
tiny  room  for'ard.  For'ard  of  this  room,  sep 
arated  by  a  tight  bulkhead,  was  the  forecastle 
where  lived  the  boat's  crew.  The  tiny  room  was 
shared  between  Van  Horn  and  Borckman,  while 
the  main  cabin  was  occupied  by  the  three-score 
and  odd  return  boys.  They  squatted  about  and 
lay  everywhere  on  the  floor  and  on  the  long  low 
bunks  that  ran  the  full  length  of  the  cabin  along 
either  side. 

In  the  little  stateroom  the  captain  tossed  a 
blanket  on  the  floor  in  a  corner,  and  he  did  not 
find  it  difficult  to  get  Jerry  to  understand  that 
that  was  his  bed.  Nor  did  Jerry,  with  a  full 
stomach  and  weary  from  so  much  excitement,  find 
it  difficult  to  fall  immediately  asleep. 

An  hour  later  he  was  awakened  by  the  entrance 
of  F  In  an.  When  he  wagged  his  stub  of  a 

46 


JERRY  47 

tail  and  smiled  friendly  with  his  eyes,  the  mate 
scowled  at  him  and  muttered  angrily  in  his  throat. 
Jerry  made  no  further  overtures,  but  lay  quietly 
watching.  The  mate  had  come  to  take  a  drink. 
In  truth,  he  was  stealing  the  drink  from  Van 
Horn's  supply.  Jerry  did  not  know  this.  Often, 
on  the  plantation,  he  had  seen  the  white  men  take 
drinks.  But  there  was  something  somehow  dif 
ferent  in  the  manner  of  Borckman's  taking  a 
drink.  Jerry  was  aware,  vaguely,  that  there 
was  something  surreptitious  about  it.  What  was 
wrong  he  did  not  know,  yet  he  sensed  the  wrong- 
ness  and  watched  suspiciously. 

After  the  mate  departed,  Jerry  would  have 
slept  again  had  not  the  carelessly  latched  door 
swung  open  with  a  bang.  Opening  his  eyes,  pre 
pared  for  any  hostile  invasion  from  the  unknown, 
he  fell  to  watching  a  large  cockroach  crawling 
down  the  wall.  When  he  got  to  his  feet  and 
warily  stalked  toward  it,  the  cockroach  scuttled 
away  with  a  slight  rustling  noise  and  disappeared 
into  a  crack.  Jerry  had  been  acquainted  with 
cockroaches  all  his  life,  but  he  was  destined  to 
learn  new  things  about  them  from  the  particular 
breed  that  dwelt  on  the  Arangi. 

After  cursory  examination  of  the  stateroom, 
he  wandered  out  into  the  cabin,  ^t .  blacks: 


48  JERRY 

sprawled  about  everywhere,  but,  conceiving  it  to 
be  his  duty  to  his  Skipper,  Jerry  made  it  a  point 
to  identify  each  one.  They  scowled  and  uttered 
low  threatening  noises  when  he  sniffed  close  to 
them.  One  dared  to  menace  him  with  a  blow, 
but  Jerry,  instead  of  slinking  away,  showed  his 
teeth  and  prepared  to  spring.  The  black  hastily 
dropped  the  offending  hand  to  his  side  and  made 
soothing,  penitent  noises,  while  others  chuckled; 
and  Jerry  passed  on  his  way.  It  was  nothing 
new.  Always  a  blow  was  to  be  expected  from 
blacks  when  white  men  were  not  around.  Both 
the  mate  and  the  captain  were  on  deck,  and  Jerry, 
though  unafraid,  continued  his  investigations 
cautiously. 

But  at  the  doorless  entrance  to  the  lazarette  aft, 
he  threw  caution  to  the  winds  and  darted  in  in 
pursuit  of  the  new  scent  that  came  to  his  nostrils. 
A  strange  person  was  in  the  low,  dark  space 
whom  he  had  never  smelled.  Clad  in  a  single 
shift  and  lying  on  a  coarse  grass-mat  spread  upon 
a  pile  of  tobacco  cases  and  fifty-pound  tins  of 
flour,  was  a  young  black  girl. 

There  was  something  furtive  and  lurking  about 
her  that  Jerry  did  not  fail  to  sense,  and  he  had 
long  since  learned  that  something  was  wrong  when 
any  black  lurked  or  skulked.  She  cried  out  with 


JERRY  49 

fear  as  he  barked  an  alarm  and  pounced  upon 
her.  Even  though  his  teeth  scratched  her  bare 
arm,  she  did  not  strike  at  him.  Nor  did  she  cry 
out  again.  She  cowered  down  and  trembled  and 
did  not  fight  back.  Keeping  his  teeth  locked  in 
the  hold  he  had  got  on  her  flimsy  shift,  he  shook 
and  dragged  at  her,  all  the  while  growling  and 
scolding  for  her  benefit  and  yelping  a  high  clamour 
to  bring  Skipper  or  the  mate. 

In  the  course  of  the  struggle,  the  girl  overbal 
anced  on  the  boxes  and  tins  and  the  entire  heap  col 
lapsed.  This  caused  Jerry  to  yelp  a  more  fren 
zied  alarm,  while  the  blacks,  peering  in  from  the 
cabin,  laughed  with  cruel  enjoyment. 

When  Skipper  arrived,  Jerry  wagged  his  stump 
tail  and  with  ears  laid  back  dragged  and  tugged 
harder  than  ever  at  the  thin  cotton  of  the  girl's 
garment.  He  expected  praise  for  what  he  had 
done,  but  when  Skipper  merely  told  him  to  let 
go,  he  obeyed  with  the  realisation  that  this  lurk 
ing,  fear-struck  creature  was  somehow  different, 
and  must  be  treated  differently,  from  other  lurk 
ing  creatures. 

Fear-struck  she  was,  as  it  is  given  to  few  humans 
to  be  and  still  live.  Van  Horn  called  her  his 
parcel  of  trouble,  and  he  was  anxious  to  be  rid 
of  the  parcel,  without,  however,  the  utter  annihi- 


50  JERRY 

lation  of  the  parcel.  It  was  this  annihilation 
which  he  had  saved  her  from  when  he  bought 
her  in  even  exchange  for-  a  fat  pig. 

Stupid,  worthless,  spiritless,  sick,  not  more 
than  a  dozen  years  old,  no  delight  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young  men  of  her  village,  she  had  been  con 
signed  by  her  disappointed  parents  to  the  cook 
ing  pot.  When  Captain  Van  Horn  first  encoun 
tered  her  had  been  when  she  was  the  central  figure 
in  a  lugubrious  procession  on  the  banks  of  the 
Balebuli  River. 

Anything  but  a  beauty  —  had  been  his  appraisal 
when  he  halted  the  procession  for  a  pow-wow. 
Lean  from  sickness,  her  skin  mangy  with  the  dry 
scales  of  the  disease  called  bukua,  she  was  tied 
hand  and  foot  and,  like  a  pig,  slung  from  a  stout 
pole  that  rested  on  the  shoulders  of  the  bearers 
who  intended  to  dine  off  of  her.  Too  hopeless 
to  expect  mercy,  she  made  no  appeal  for  help, 
though  the  horrible  fear  that  possessed  her  was 
eloquent  in  her  wild-staring  eyes. 

In  the  universal  beche-de-mer  English,  Captain 
Van  Horn  had  learned  that  she  was  not  regarded 
with  relish  by  her  companions,  and  that  they  were 
on  their  way  to  stake  her  out  up  to  her  neck  in 
the  running  water  of  the  Balebuli.  But  first,  be 
fore  theycs'v'ked  her,  their  plan  was  to  dislocate 


JERRY  51 

her  joints  and  break  the  big  bones  of  the  arms 
and  legs.  This  was  no  religious  rite,  no  placation 
of  the  brutish  jungle  gods.  Merely  was  it  a  mat 
ter  of  gastronomy.  Living  meat,  so  treated,  was 
made  tender  and  tasty,  and,  as  her  companions 
pointed  out,  she  certainly  needed  to  be  put  through 
such  a  process.  Two  days  in  the  water,  they 
told  the  captain,  ought  to  do  the  business.  Then 
they  would  kill  her,  build  the  fire,  and  invite  in 
a  few  friends. 

After  half  an  hour  of  bargaining,  during  which 
Captain  Van  Horn  had  insisted  on  the  worthless- 
ness  of  the  parcel,  he  had  bought  a  fat  pig  worth 
five  dollars  and  exchanged  it  for  her.  Thus,  since 
he  paid  for  the  pig  in  trade  goods,  and  since  trade 
goods  were  rated  at  a  hundred  per  cent  profit,  the 
girl  had  actually  cost  him  two  dollars  and  fifty 
cents. 

And  then  Captain  Van  Horn's  troubles  had 
begun.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  the  girl.  Too 
well  he  knew  the  natives  of  Malaita  to  turn  her 
over  to  them  anywhere  on  the  island.  Chief 
Ishikola  of  Su'u  had  offered  five  twenties  of  drink 
ing  coconuts  for  her,  and  Bau,  a  bush  chief,  had 
offered  two  chickens  on  the  beach  at  Malu.  But 
this  last  offer  had  been  accompanied  by  a  sneer, 
and  had  tokened  the  old  rascalV^orn  'of  the 


52  JERRY 

girl's  scrawniness.  Failing  to  connect  with  the 
missionary  brig,  the  Western  Cross,  on  which  she 
would  not  have  been  eaten,  Captain  Van  Horn 
had  been  compelled  to  keep  her  in  the  cramped 
quarters  of  the  Arangi  against  a  problematical 
future  time  when  he  would  be  able  to  turn  her 
over  to  the  missionaries. 

But  toward  him  the  girl  had  no  heart  of  grati 
tude  because  she  had  no  brain  of  understanding. 
She,  who  had  been  sold  for  a  fat  pig,  considered 
her  pitiful  role  in  the  world  to  be  unchanged. 
Eatee  she  had  been.  Eatee  she  remained.  Her 
destination  merely  had  been  changed,  and  this  big 
fella  white  marster  of  the  Arangi  would  undoubt 
edly  be  her  destination  when  she  had  sufficiently 
fattened.  His  designs  on  her  had  been  transpar 
ent  from  the  first,  when  he  had  tried  to  feed  her 
up.  And  she  had  outwitted  him  by  resolutely  eat 
ing  no  more  than  would  barely  keep  her  alive. 

As  a  result,  she,  who  had  lived  in  the  bush  all 
her  days  and  never  so  much  as  set  foot  in  a  canoe, 
rocked  and  rolled  unendingly  over  the  broad  ocean 
in  a  perpetual  nightmare  of  fear.  In  the  beche- 
de-mer  that  was  current  among  the  blacks  of  a 
thousand  islands  and  ten  thousand  dialects,  the 
Arangi' 's  procession  of  passengers  assured  her  of 
her  fate.  "  My  word,  you  fella  Mary,"  one 


JERRY  53 

would  say  to  her,  "  short  time  little  bit  that  big 
fella  white  marster  kai-kai  along  you."  Or,  an 
other:  "  Big  fella  white  marster  kai-kai  along 
you,  my  word,  belly  belong  him  walk  about  too 
much." 

Kai-kai  was  the  beche-de-mer  for  "  eat." 
Even  Jerry  new  that.  ".Eat  "  did  not  obtain 
in  his  vocabulary;  but  kai-kai  did,  and  it  meant 
all  and  more  than  "  eat,"  for  it  served  for  both 
noun  and  verb. 

But  the  girl  never  replied  to  the  jeering  of  the 
blacks.  For  that  matter,  she  never  spoke  at  all, 
not  even  to  Captain  Van  Horn,  who  did  not  so 
much  as  know  her  name. 

It  was  late  afternoon,  after  discovering  the  girl 
in  the  lazarette,  when  Jerry  again  came  on  deck. 
Scacely  had  Skipper,  who  had  carried  him  up 
the  steep  ladder,  dropped  him  on  deck  than  Jerry 
made  a  new  discovery  —  land.  He  did  not  see 
it,  but  he  smelled  it.  His  nose  went  up  in  the 
air  and  quested  to  windward  along  the  wind  that 
brought  the  message,  and  he  read  the  air  with  his 
nose  as  a  man  might  read  a  newspaper  —  the  salt 
smells  of  the  sea  shore  and  of  the  dank  muck 
of  mangrove  swamps  at  low  tide,  the  spicy  fra 
grances  of  tropic  vegetation,  and  the  faint,  most 
faint,  acrid  tingle  of  smoke  from  smudgy  fires. 


54  JERRY 

The  trade,  which  had  laid  the  Arangi  well  up 
under  the  lee  of  this  outjutting  point  of  Malaita, 
was  now  failing,  so  that  she  began  to  roll  in  the 
easy  swells  with  crashings  of  sheets  and  tackles 
and  thunderous  flappings  of  her  sails.  Jerry  no 
more  than  cocked  a  contemptuous  quizzical  eye  at 
the  mainsail  anticking  above  him.  He  knew  al 
ready  the  empty  windiness  of  its  threats,  but  he 
was  careful  of  the  mainsheet  blocks,  and  walked 
around  the  traveller  instead  of  over  it. 

While  Captain  Von  Horn,  taking  advantage 
of  the  calm  to  exercise  the  boat's  crew  with  the 
firearms  and  to  limber  up  the  weapon,  was  pass 
ing  out  the  Lee-Enfields  from  their  place  on  top 
the  cabin  skylight,  Jerry  suddenly  crouched  and 
began  to  stalk  stiff-legged.  But  the  wild-dog, 
three  feet  from  his  lair  under  the  trade-boxes, 
was  not  unobservant.  He  watched  and  snarled 
threateningly.  It  was  not  a  nice  snarl.  In  fact, 
it  was  as  nasty  and  savage  a  snarl  as  all  his  life 
had  been  nasty  and  savage.  Most  small  crea 
tures  were  afraid  of  that  snarl,  but  it  had  no 
deterrent  effect  on  Jerry,  who  continued  his  steady 
stalking.  When  the  wild-dog  sprang  for  the 
hole  under  the  boxes,  Jerry  sprang  after,  miss 
ing  his  enemy  by  inches. 
•  Tossteg-  overboard  bits  of  wood,  bottles  and 


JERRY  55 

empty  tins,  Captain  Van  Horn  ordered  the  eight 
eager  boat's  crew  with  rifles  to  turn  loose.  Jerry 
was  excited  and  delighted  with  the  fusillade,  and 
added  his  puppy  yelpings  to  the  noise.  As  the 
empty  brass  cartridges  were  ejected,  the  return 
boys  scrambled  on  the  deck  for  them,  esteeming 
them  as  very  precious  objects  and  thrusting  them, 
still  warm,  into  the  empty  holes  in  their  ears. 
Their  ears  were  perforated  with  many  of  these 
holes,  the  smallest  capable  of  receiving  a  car 
tridge,  while  the  larger  ones  contained  clay  pipes, 
sticks  of  tobacco,  and  even  boxes  of  matches. 
Some  of  the  holes  in  the  ear-lobes  were  so  huge 
that  they  were  plugged  with  carved  wooden  cylin 
ders  three  inches  in  diameter. 

Mate  and  captain  carried  automatics  in  their 
belts,  and  with  these  they  turned  loose,  shooting 
away  clip  after  clip  to  the  breathless  admiration 
of  the  blacks  for  such  marvellous  rapidity  of  fire. 
The  boat's  crew  were  not  even  fair  shots,  but 
Van  Horn,  like  every  captain  in  the  Solomons, 
knew  that  the  bush  natives  and  salt-water  men 
were  so  much  worse  shots,  and  knew  that  the 
shooting  of  his  boat's  crew  could  be  depended 
upon  —  if  the  boat's  crew  itself  did  not  turn 
against  the  ship  in  a  pinch. 

At  first,   Borckman's   automatic  jimmied*  ,and 


56  JERRY 

he  received  a  caution  from  Van  Horn  for  his 
carelessness  in  not  keeping  it  clean  and  thin- 
oiled.  Also,  Borckman  was  twittingly  asked  how 
many  drinks  he  had  taken,  and  if  that  was  what 
accounted  for  his  shooting  being  under  his  aver 
age.  Borckman  explained  that  he  had  a  touch 
of  fever,  and  Van  Horn  deferred  stating  his 
doubts  until,  a  few  minutes  later,  squatting  in  the 
shade  of  the  spanker  with  Jerry  in  his  arms,  he 
told  Jerry  all  about  it. 

"  The  trouble  with  him  is  the  schnapps,  Jerry," 
he  explained.  "  Gott-fer-dang,  it  makes  me 
keep  all  my  watches  and  half  of  his.  And  he 
says  it's  the  fever.  Never  believe  it,  Jerry.  It's 
the  schnapps  —  just  the  plain  s-c-h-n-a-p-p-s 
schnapps.  An'  he's  a  good  sailorman,  Jerry, 
when  he's  sober.  But  when  he's  schnappy  he's 
sheer  lunatic.  Then  his  noddle  goes  pinwheel- 
ing  and  he's  a  blighted  fool,  and  he'd  snore  in  a 
gale  and  suffer  for  sleep  in  a  dead  calm.  Jerry, 
you're  just  beginning  to  pad  those  four  little  soft 
feet  of  yours  into  the  world,  so  take  the  advice 
of  one  who  knows  and  leave  the  schnapps  alone. 
Believe  me,  Jerry,  boy  —  listen  to  your  father  — 
schnapps  will  never  buy  you  anything." 

Whereupon,  leaving  Jerry  on  deck  to  stalk  the 
wild-doo;  Captain  Van  Horn  went  below  into 


JERRY  57 

the  tiny  stateroom  and  took  a  long  drink  from 
the  very  bottle  from  which  Borckman  was  steal 
ing. 

The  stalking  of  the  wild-dog  became  a  game, 
at  least  to  Jerry,  who  was  so  made  that  his  heart 
bore  no  malice,  and  who  hugely  enjoyed  it.  Also, 
it  gave  him  a  delightful  consciousness  of  his  own 
mastery,  for  the  wild-dog  always  fled  from  him. 
At  least  so  far  as  dogs  were  concerned,  Jerry 
was  cock  of  the  deck  of  the  Arangi.  It  did  not 
enter  his  head  to  query  how  his  conduct  affected 
the  wild-dog,  though,  in  truth,  he  led  that  indi 
vidual  a  wretched  existence.  Never,  except  when 
Jerry  was  below,  did  the  wild  one  dare  venture 
more  than  several  feet  from  his  retreat,  and  he 
went  about  in  fear  and  trembling  of  the  fat  roly- 
poly  puppy  who  was  unafraid  of  his  snarl. 

In  the  late  afternoon  Jerry  trotted  aft,  after 
having  administered  another  lesson  to  the  wild 
dog,  and  found  Skipper  seated  on  the  deck,  back 
against  the  low  rail,  knees  drawn  up,  and  gazing 
absently  off  to  leeward.  Jerry  sniffed  his  bare 
calf  —  not  that  he  needed  to  identify  it,  but  just 
because  he  liked  to,  and  in  a  sort  of  friendly 
greeting.  But  Van  Horn  took  no  notice,  con 
tinuing  to  stare  out  across  the  sea.  Nor  was  he 
aware  of  the  puppy's  presence.  "  r 


58  JERRY 

Jerry  rested  the  length  of  his  chin  on  Skipper's 
knee  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  into  Skipper's 
face.  This  time  Skipper  knew,  and  was  pleas 
antly  thrilled;  but  still  he  gave  no  sign.  Jerry 
tried  a  new  tack.  Skipper's  hand  drooped  idly, 
half  open,  from  where  the  fore-arm  rested  on 
the  other  knee.  Into  the  part  open  hand  Jerry 
thrust  his  soft  golden  muzzle  to  the  eyes  and  re 
mained  quite  still.  Had  he  been  situated  to  see, 
he  would  have  seen  a  twinkle  in  Skipper's  eyes, 
which  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  sea  and  were 
looking  down  upon  him.  But  Jerry  could  not 
see.  He  kept  quiet  a  little  longer  and  then  gave 
a  prodigious  sniff. 

This  was  too  much  for  Skipper,  who  laughed 
with  such  genial  heartiness  as  to  lay  Jerry's  silky 
ears  back  and  down  in  self-deprecation  of  affec 
tion  and  pleadingness  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of 
the  god's  smile.  Also,  Skipper's  laughter  set 
Jerry's  tail  wildly  bobbing.  The  half  open  hand 
closed  in  a  firm  grip  that  gathered  in  the  slack 
of  the  skin  of  one  side  of  Jerry's  head  and  jowl. 
Then  the  hand  began  to  shake  him  back  and  forth 
with  such  good  will  that  he  was  compelled  to  bal 
ance  back  and  forth  on  all  his  four  feet. 

It  was  bliss  to  Jerry.  Nay,  more,  it  was 
ecstasy.  For  Jerry  knew  there  was  neither  anger 


JERRY  59 

nor  danger  in  the  roughness  of  the  shake,  and 
that  it  was  play  of  the  sort  that  he  and  Michael 
had  indulged  in.  On  occasion,  he  had  so  played 
with  Biddy  and  lovingly  mauled  her  about.  And, 
on  very  rare  occasions,  Mister  Haggin  had  lov 
ingly  mauled  him  about.  It  was  speech  to  Jerry, 
full  of  unmistakable  meaning. 

As  the  shake  grew  rougher,  Jerry  emitted  his 
most  ferocious  growl,  which  grew  more  ferocious 
with  the  increasing  violence  of  the  shaking.  But 
that,  too,  was  play,  a  making  believe  to  hurt  the 
one  he  liked  too  well  to  hurt.  He  strained  and 
tugged  at  the  grip,  trying  to  twist  his  jowl  in  the 
slack  of  skin  so  as  to  reach  a  bite. 

When  Skipper,  with  a  quick  thrust,  released 
him  and  shoved  him  clear,  he  came  back,  all  teeth 
and  growl,  to  be  again  caught  and  shaken.  The 
play  continued,  with  rising  excitement  to  Jerry. 
Once,  too  quick  for  Skipper,  he  caught  his  hand 
between  his  teeth;  but  he  did  not  bring  them  to 
gether.  They  pressed  lovingly,  denting  the  skin, 
but  there  was  no  bite  in  them. 

The  play  grew  rougher,  and  Jerry  lost  himself 
in  the  play.  Still  playing,  he  grew  so  excited 
that  all  that  had  been  feigned  became  actual. 
This  was  battle,  a  struggle  against  the  hand  that 
seized  and  shook  him  and  thrust  him  away.  The 


60  JERRY 

make  believe  of  ferocity  passed  out  of  his  growls; 
the  ferocity  in  them  became  real.  Also,  in  the 
moments  when  he  was  shoved  away  and  was 
springing  back  to  the  attack,  he  yelped  in  high- 
pitched  puppy  hysteria.  And  Captain  Van 
Horn,  realising,  suddenly,  instead  of  clutching, 
extended  his  hand  wide  open  in  the  peace  sign 
that  is  as  ancient  as  the  human  hand.  At  the 
same  time  his  voice  rang  out  the  single  word, 
"Jerry!"  In  it  was  all  the  imperativeness  of 
reproof  and  command  and  all  the  solicitous  in 
sistence  of  love. 

Jerry  knew  and  was  checked  back  to  himself. 
He  was  instantly  contrite,  all  soft  humility,  ears 
laid  back  with  pleadingness  for  forgiveness  and 
protestation  of  a  warm  throbbing  heart  of  love. 
Instantly,  from  an  open-mouthed,  fang-bristling 
dog  in  full  career  of  attack,  he  melted  into  a 
bundle  of  softness  and  silkiness,  that  trotted  to 
the  open  hand  and  kissed  it  with  a  tongue  that 
flashed  out  between  white  gleaming  teeth  like  a 
rose-red  jewel.  And  the  next  moment  he  was 
in  Skipper's  arms,  jowl  against  cheek,  and  the 
tongue  was  again  flashing  out  in  all  the  articu- 
lateness  possible  for  a  creature  denied  speech. 
It  was  a  veritable  love  feast,  as  dear  to  one  as  to 
the  other. 


JERRY  61 

"  Gott-fer-dang !  "  Captain  Van  Horn  crooned. 
"  You're  nothing  but  a  bunch  of  high-strung  sen 
sitiveness,  with  a  golden  heart  in  the  middle  and 
a  golden  coat  wrapped  all  around.  Gott-fer- 
dang,  Jerry,  you're  gold,  pure  gold,  inside  and 
out,  and  no  dog  was  ever  minted  like  you  in  all 
the  world.  You're  heart  of  gold,  you  golden 
dog,  and  be  good  to  me  and  love  me  as  I  shall 
always  be  good  to  you  and  love  you  forever  and 
forever." 

And  Captain  Van  Horn,  who  ruled  the  Arangi 
in  bare  legs,  a  loin  cloth,  and  a  six-penny  under 
shirt,  and  ran  cannibal  blacks  back  and  forth  in 
the  blackbird  trade  with  an  automatic  strapped 
to  his  body  waking  and  sleeping  and  with  his 
head  forfeit  in  scores  of  salt  water  villages  and 
bush  strongholds,  and  who  was  esteemed  the 
toughest  skipper  in  the  Solomons  where  only  men 
who  are  tough  may  continue  to  live  and  esteem 
toughness,  blinked  with  sudden  moisture  in  his 
eyes,  and  could  not  see  for  the  moment  the  puppy 
that  quivered  all  its  body  of  love  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  away  the  salty  softness  of  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  V 

AND  swift  tropic  night  smote  the  Arangi,  as 
she  alternately  rolled  in  calms  and  heeled 
and  plunged  ahead  in  squalls  under  the  lee  of 
the  cannibal  island  of  Malaita.  It  was  a  stop 
page  of  the  southeast  trade  wind  that  made  for 
variable  weather,  and  that  made  cooking  on  the 
exposed  deck  galley  a  misery  and  sent  the  return 
boys,  who  had  nothing  to  wet  but  their  skins, 
scuttling  below. 

The  first  watch,  from  eight  to  twelve,  was  the 
mate's;  and  Captain  Van  Horn,  forced  below 
by  the  driving  wet  of  a  heavy  rain  squall,  took 
Jerry  with  him  to  sleep  in  the  tiny  stateroom. 
Jerry  was  weary  from  the  manifold  excitements 
of  the  most  exciting  day  in  his  life;  and  he  was 
asleep  and  kicking  and  growling  in  his  sleep,  ere 
Skipper,  with  a  last  look  at  him  and  grin  as  he 
turned  the  lamp  low,  muttered  aloud.  "  It's  that 
wild-dog,  Jerry.  Get  him.  Shake  him.  Shake 
him  hard." 

So  soundly  did  Jerry  sleep,  that  when  the  rain, 
ftiving  rdbBcd  the  atmosphere  of  its  last  breath 

62 


JERRY  63 

of  wind,  ceased  and  left  the  stateroom  a  steam 
ing,  suffocating  furnace,  he  did  not  know  when 
Skipper,  panting  for  air,  his  loin  cloth  and  un 
dershirt  soaked  with  sweat,  arose,  tucked  blanket 
and  pillow  under  his  arm,  and  went  on  deck. 

Jerry  only  awakened  when  a  huge  three-inch 
cockroach  nibbled  at  the  sensitive  and  hairless 
skin  between  his  toes.  He  awoke  kicking  the 
offended  foot,  and  gazed  at  the  cockroach  that 
did  not  scuttle,  but  that  walked  dignifiedly  away. 
He  watched  it  join  other  cockroaches  that  pa 
raded  the  floor.  Never  had  he  seen  so  many 
gathered  together  at  one  time,  and  never  had  he 
seen  such  large  ones.  They  were  all  of  a  size, 
and  they  were  everywhere.  Long  lines  of  them 
poured  out  of  cracks  in  the  walls  and  descended 
to  join  their  fellows  on  the  floor. 

The  thing  was  indecent  —  at  least,  in  Jerry's 
mind,  it  was  not  to  be  tolerated.  Mister  Hag- 
gin,  Derby,  and  Bob  had  never  tolerated  cock 
roaches,  and  their  rules  were  his  rules.  The 
cockroach  was  the  eternal  tropic  enemy.  He 
sprang  at  the  nearest,  pouncing  to  crush  it  to  the 
floor  under  his  paws.  But  the  thing  did  what 
he  had  never  known  a  cockroach  to  do.  It  rose 
in  the  air,  strong-flighted  as  a  bird.  And  as  if 
at  a  signal,  all  the  multitude  of  cocj^o aches  took. 


64  JERRY 

wings  of  flight  and  filled  the  room  with  their 
flutterings  and  circlings. 

He  attacked  the  winged  host,  leaping  into  the 
air,  snapping  at  the  flying  vermin,  trying  to  knock 
them  down  with  his  paws.  Occasionally  he  suc 
ceeded  and  destroyed  one;  nor  did  the  combat 
cease  until  all  the  cockroaches,  as  if  at  another 
signal,  disappeared  into  the  many  cracks,  leaving 
the  room  to  him. 

Quickly,  his  next  thought  was:  Where  is 
Skipper?  He  knew  he  was  not  in  the  room, 
though  he  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  investi 
gated  the  low  bunk,  his  keen  little  nose  quiver 
ing  delightedly  while  he  made  little  sniffs  of  de 
light  as  he  smelled  the  recent  presence  of  Skipper. 
And  what  made  his  nose  quiver  and  sniff,  like 
wise  made  his  stump  of  a  tail  bob  back  and 
forth. 

But  where  was  Skipper?  It  was  a  thought  in 
his  brain  that  was  as  sharp  and  definite  as  a  sim 
ilar  thought  would  be  in  a  human  brain.  And 
it  similarly  preceded  action.  The  door  had  been 
left  hooked  open,  and  Jerry  trotted  out  into 
the  cabin  where  half  a  hundred  blacks  made 
queer  sleep-moanings,  and  sighings,  and  snorings. 
They  were  packed  closely  together,  covering  the 
floor  as  well  as  the  long  sweep  of  bunks,  so  that 


JERRY  65 

he  was  compelled  to  crawl  over  their  naked  legs. 
And  there  was  no  white  god  about  to  protect  him. 
He  knew  it,  but  was  unfraid. 

Having  made  sure  that  Skipper  was  not  in  the 
cabin,  Jerry  prepared  for  the  perilous  ascent  of 
the  steep  steps  that  were  almost  a  ladder,  then 
recollected  the  lazarette.  In  he  trotted  and 
sniffed  at  the  sleeping  girl  in  the  cotton  shift  who 
believed  that  Van  Horn  was  going  to  eat  her  if 
he  could  succeed  in  fattening  her. 

Back  at  the  ladder-steps,  he  looked  up  and 
waited  in  the  hope  that  Skipper  might  appear 
from  above  and  carry  him  up.  Skipper  had 
passed  that  way,  he  knew,  and  he  knew  for  two 
reasons.  It  was  the  only  way  he  could  have 
passed,  and  Jerry's  nose  told  him  that  he  had 
passed.  His  first  attempt  to  climb  the  steps  be 
gan  well.  Not  until  a  third  of  the  way  up,  as 
the  Arangi  rolled  in  a  sea  and  recovered  with 
a  jerk,  did  he  slip  and  fall.  Two  or  three  boys 
awoke  and  watched  him  while  they  prepared  and 
chewed  betel  nut  and  lime  wrapped  in  green 
leaves. 

Twice,  barely  started,  Jerry  slipped  back,  and 
more  boys,  awakened  by  their  fellows,  sat  up  and 
enjoyed  his  plight.  In  the  fourth  attempt  he 
managed  to  gain  half  way  up  before  he  fell, 


66  JERRY 

coming  down  heavily  on  his  side.  This  was 
hailed  with  low  laughter  and  querulous  chirpings 
that  might  well  have  come  from  the  throats  of 
huge  birds.  He  regained  his  feet,  absurdly 
the  hair  on  his  shoulders  and  absurdly  growled 
his  high  disdain  of  these  lesser,  two-legged  things 
that  came  and  went  and  obeyed  the  wills  of  great, 
white-skinned,  two-legged  gods  such  as  Skipper 
and  Mister  Haggin. 

Undeterred  by  his  heavy  fall,  Jerry  essayed 
the  ladder  again.  A  temporary  easement  of  the 
Arangi's  rolling  gave  him  his  opportunity,  so  that 
his  fore-feet  were  over  the  high  combing  of  the 
companion  when  the  next  big  roll  came.  He 
held  on  by  main  strength  of  his  bent  fore-legs, 
then  scrambled  over  and  out  on  deck. 

Amidships,  squatting  on  the  deck  near  the  sky 
light,  he  investigated  several  of  the  boat's  crew 
and  Lerumie.  He  identified  them  circumspectly, 
going  suddenly  stiff-legged  as  Lerumie  made  a 
low-hissing,  menacing  noise.  Aft,  at  the  wheel, 
he  found  a  black  steering,  and,  near  him,  the 
mate  keeping  the  watch.  Just  as  the  mate  spoke 
to  him  and  stopped  to  pat  him,  Jerry  whiffed 
Skipper  somewhere  near  at  hand.  With  a  con 
ciliating,  apologetic  bob  of  his  tail,  he  trotted  on 
up  wind  and  came  upon  Skipper  on  his  back,  rolled 


JERRY  67 

in  a  blanket  so  that  only  his  head  stuck  out,  and 
sound  asleep. 

First  of  all  Jerry  needs  must  joyfully  sniff  him 
and  joyfully  wag  his  tail.  But  Skipper  did  not 
awake,  and  a  fine  spray  of  rain,  almost  as  thin 
as  mist,  made  Jerry  curl  up  and  press  closely 
into  the  angle  formed  by  Skipper's  head  and 
shoulders.  This  did  awake  him,  for  he  uttered 
"  Jerry  "  in  a  crooning  voice,  and  Jerry  responded 
with  a  touch  of  his  cold  damp  nose  to  the  other's 
cheek.  And  then  Skipper  went  to  sleep  again. 
But  not  Jerry.  He  lifted  the  edge  of  the  blanket 
with  his  nose  and  crawled  across  the  shoulder 
until  he  was  altogether  inside.  This  roused  Skip 
per,  who,  drowsily,  helped  him  to  curl  up. 

Still  Jerry  was  not  satisfied,  and  he  squirmed 
around  until  he  lay  in  the  hollow  of  Skipper's 
arm,  his  head  resting  on  Skipper's  shoulder, 
when,  with  a  profound  sigh  of  content,  he  fell 
asleep. 

Several  times  the  noises  made  by  the  boat's 
crew  in  trimming  the  sheets  to  the  shifting 
draughts  of  air  roused  Van  Horn,  and  each  time, 
remembering  the  puppy,  he  pressed  him  caress 
ingly  with  his  hollowed  arm.  And  each  time,  in 
his  sleep,  Jerry  stirred  responsively  and  snuggled 
cosily  to  him. 


68  JERRY 

For  all  that  he  was  a  remarkable  puppy,  Jerry 
had  his  limitations,  and  he  could  never  know 
the  effect  produced  on  the  hard-bitten  captain  by 
the  soft  warm  contact  of  his  velvet  body.  But 
it  made  the  captain  remember  back  across  the 
years  to  his  own  girl  babe  asleep  on  his  arm. 
So  poignantly  did  he  remember,  that  he  became 
wide  awake,  and  many  pictures,  beginning  with 
the  girl  babe,  burned  their  torment  in  his  brain. 
No  white  man  in  the  Solomons  knew  what  he 
carried  about  with  him,  waking  and  often  sleep 
ing;  and  it  was  because  of  these  pictures  that  he 
had  come  to  the  Solomons  in  a  vain  effort  to  erase 
them. 

First,  memory-prodded  by  the  soft  puppy  in 
his  arm,  he  saw  the  girl  and  the  mother  in  the 
little  Harlem  flat.  Small,  it  was  true,  but  tight- 
packed  with  the  happiness  of  three  that  made  it 
heaven. 

He  saw  the  girl's  flaxen-yellow  hair  darken  to 
her  mother's  gold  as  it  lengthened  into  curls  and 
ringlets  until  finally  it  became  two  thick  long 
braids.  From  striving  not  to  see  these  many 
pictures,  he  came  to  dwelling  upon  them  in  the 
effort  so  to  fill  his  consciousness  as  to  keep  out 
the  one  picture  he  did  not  want  to  see. 

He  remembered  his  work,   the  wrecking  car, 


JERRY  69 

and  the  wrecking  crew  that  had  toiled  under  him, 
and  he  wondered  what  had  become  of  Clancey, 
his  right  hand  man.  Came  the  long  day,  when, 
routed  from  bed  at  three  in  the  morning  to  dig 
a  surface  car  out  of  the  wrecked  show  windows 
of  a  drug  store  and  get  it  back  on  the  track,  they 
had  laboured  all  day  clearing  up  a  half  dozen 
smash-ups  and  arrived  at  the  car  house  at  nine 
at  night  just  as  another  call  came  in. 

"  Glory  be !  "  said  Clancey,  who  lived  in  the 
next  block  from  him.  He  could  see  him  saying 
it  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  grimy  face. 
"  Glory  be,  't  is  a  small  matter  at  most,  an'  right 
in  our  neighbourhood  —  not  a  dozen  blocks 
away.  Soon  as  it's  done  we  can  beat  it  for  home 
an'  let  the  down  town  boys  take  the  car  back  to 
the  shop." 

"  We've  only  to  jack  her  up  for  a  moment," 
he  had  answered. 

"What  is  it?"  Billy  Jaffers,  another  of  the 
crew,  asked. 

u  Somebody  run  over  —  can't  get  them  out," 
he  said,  as  they  swung  on  board  the  wrecking  car 
and  started. 

He  saw  again  all  the  incidents  of  the  long  run, 
not  omitting  the  delay  caused  by  the  hose  carts  and 
a  hook-and-ladder  running  to  a  cross-town  fire, 


7o  JERRY 

during  which  time  he  and  Clancey  joked  Jaffers 
over  the  dates  with  various  fictitious  damsels  out 
of  which  he  had  been  cheated  by  the  night's  extra 
work. 

Came  the  long  line  of  stalled  streetcars,  the 
crowd,  the  police  holding  it  back,  the  two  ambu 
lances  drawn  up  and  waiting  their  freight,  and  the 
young  policeman,  whose  beat  it  was,  white  and 
shaken,  greeting  him  with:  "  It's  horrible,  man. 
It's  fair  sickening.  Two  of  them.  We  can't  get 
them  out.  I  tried.  One  was  still  living,  I 
think." 

But  he,  strong  man  and  hearty,  used  to  such 
work,  weary  with  the  hard  day  and  with  a  pleas 
ant  picture  of  the  bright  little  flat  waiting  him 
a  dozen  blocks  away  when  the  job  was  done, 
spoke  cheerfully,  confidently,  saying  that  he'd 
have  them  out  in  a  jiffy,  as  he  stooped  and  crawled 
under  the  car  on  hands  and  knees. 

Again  he  saw  himself  as  he  pressed  the  switch 
of  his  electric  torch  and  looked.  Again  he  saw 
the  twin  braids  of  heavy  golden  hair  ere  his 
thumb  relaxed  from  the  switch,  leaving  his  in 
darkness. 

"  Is  the  one  alive  yet?"  the  shaken  policeman 
asked. 

And  the  nuestion  was  repeated,  while  he  strug- 


JERRY  71 

gled  for  will  power  sufficient  to  press  on  the  light. 
He   heard  himself  reply,    "  I'll   tell  you   in   a 


minute." 


Again  he  saw  himself  look.  For  a  long  minute 
he  looked. 

"  Both  dead,"  he  answered  quietly.  — "  Clan- 
cey,  pass  in  a  number  three  jack,  and  get  under 
yourself  with  another  at  the  other  end  of  the 
truck." 

He  lay  on  his  back,  staring  straight  up  at  one 
single  star  that  rocked  mistily  through  a  thinning 
of  cloud-stuff  overhead.  The  old  ache  was  in 
his  throat,  the  old  harsh  dryness  in  mouth  and 
eyes.  And  he  knew  —  what  no  other  man  knew 
—  why  he  was  in  the  Solomons,  skipper  of  the 
teak-built  yacht  Arangi,  running  niggers,  risking 
his  head,  and  drinking  more  Scotch  whiskey  than 
was  good  for  any  man. 

Not  since  that  night  had  he  looked  with  warm 
eyes  on  any  woman.  And  he  had  been  noted  by 
other  whites  as  notoriously  cold  toward  pickanin 
nies  white  or  black. 

But,  having  visioned  the  ultimate  horror  of 
memory,  Van  Horn  was  soon  able  to  fall  asleep 
again,  delightfully  aware,  as  he  drowsed  off,  of 
Jerry's  head  on  his  shoulder.  Once,  when  Jerry, 
dreaming  of  the  beach  at  Meringe  :  \  .3  dfiMister 


72  JERRY 

Haggin,  Biddy,  Terrence,  and  Michael,  set  up 
a  low  whimpering,  Van  Horn  roused  sufficiently 
to  soothe  him  closer  to  him  and  to  mutter  omi 
nously:  "  And  nigger  that'd  hurt  that  pup.  .  .  ." 

At  midnight  when  the  mate  touched  him  on 
the  shoulder,  in  the  moment  of  awakening  and 
before  he  was  awake  Van  Horn  did  two  things 
automatically  and  swiftly.  He  darted  his  right 
hand  down  to  the  pistol  at  his  hip,  and  muttered: 
"  Any  nigger  that'd  hurt  that  pup  .  .  ." 

"  That'll  be  Kopo  Point  abreast,"  Borckman 
explained,  as  both  men  stared  to  windward  at 
the  high  loom  of  the  land.  "  She  hasn't  made 
more  than  ten  miles,  and  no  promise  of  anything 
steady." 

'  There's  plenty  of  stuff  making  up  there,  if 
it'll  ever  come  down,"  Van  Horn  said,  as  both 
men  transferred  their  gaze  to  the  clouds  drifting 
with  many  breaks  across  the  dim  stars. 

Scarcely  had  the  mate  fetched  a  blanket  from 
below  and  turned  in  on  deck,  than  a  brisky  steady 
breeze  sprang  up  from  off  the  land,  sending  the 
Arangi  through  the  smooth  water  at  a  nine-knot 
clip.  For  a  time  Jerry  tried  to  stand  the  watch 
with  Skipper,  but  he  soon  curled  up  and  dozed 
off,  partly  on  the  deck  and  partly  on  Skipper's 
bare  feet. 


JERRY  73 

When  Skipper  carried  him  to  the  blanket  and 
rolled  him  in,  he  was  quickly  asleep  again;  and  he 
was  quickly  awake,  out  of  the  blanket,  and  pad 
ding  after  along  the  deck  as  Skipper  paced  up 
and  down.  Here  began  another  lesson,  and  in 
five  minutes  Jerry  learned  it  was  the  will  of 
Skipper  that  he  should  remain  in  the  blanket,  that 
everything  was  all  right,  and  that  Skipper  would 
be  up  and  down  and  near  him  all  the  time. 

At  four  the  mate  took  charge  of  the  deck. 

"  Reeled  off  thirty  miles,"  Van  Horn  told  him. 
"  But  now  it's  baffling  again.  Keep  an  eye  for 
squalls  under  the  land.  Better  throw  the  hal 
yards  down  on  deck  and  make  the  watch  stand 
by.  Of  course  they'll  sleep,  but  make  them  sleep 
on  the  halyards  and  sheets." 

Jerry  roused  to  Skipper's  entrance  under  the 
blanket,  and,  quite  as  if  it  were  a  long  established 
custom,  curled  in  between  his  arm  and  side;  then, 
after  one  happy  sniff  and  one  kiss  of  his  cool 
little  tongue  as  Skipper  pressed  his  cheek  against 
'him  caressingly,  dozed  off. 

Half  an  hour  later,  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
so  far  as  Jerry  could  or  could  not  comprehend, 
the  world  might  well  have  seemed  suddenly  com 
ing  to  an  end.  What  awoke  him  was  the  flying 
leap  of  Skipper  that  sent  the  blanket  one  way 


74  JERRY 

and  Jerry  the  other.  The  deck  of  the  Arangl 
had  become  a  wall,  down  which  Jerry  slipped 
through  the  roaring  dark.  Every  rope  and 
shroud  was  thrumming  and  screeching  in  resist 
ance  to  the  fierce  weight  of  the  squall. 

"  Stand  by  main  halyards!  —  Jump!"  he 
could  hear  Skipper  shouting  loudly;  also  he  heard 
the  high  note  of  the  main-sheet  screaming  across 
the  sheaves  as  Van  Horn,  bending  braced  in  the 
dark,  was  swiftly  slacking  the  sheet  through  his 
scorching  palms  with  a  single  turn  on  the  cleat. 

While  all  this,  along  with  many  other  noises, 
squealing  of  boat  boys  and  shouts  of  Borckman, 
was  impacting  on  Jerry's  ear-drums,  he  was  still 
sliding  down  the  steep  deck  of  his  new  and  un 
stable  world.  But  he  did  not  bring  up  against 
the  rail  where  his  fragile  ribs  might  well  have 
been  broken.  Instead,  the  warm  ocean  water, 
pouring  inboard  across  the  buried  rail  in  a  flood 
of  pale  phosphorescent  fire,  cushioned  his  fall. 
A  raffle  of  trailing  ropes  entangled  him  as  he 
struck  out  to  swim. 

And  he  swam,  not  to  save  his  life,  not  with 
the  fear  of  death  upon  him.  There  was  but 
one  idea  in  his  mind.  Where  was  Skipper? 
Not  that  he  had  any  thought  of  trying  to  save 
Skipper,  nor  that  he  might  be  of  assistance  to 


JERRY  75 

him.  It  was  the  heart  of  love  that  drives  one 
always  toward  the  beloved.  As  the  mother  in 
catastrophe  tries  to  gain  her  babe,  as  the  Greek 
who  dying  remembered  sweet  Argos,  as  soldiers 
on  a  stricken  field  pass  with  the  names  of  their 
women  upon  their  lips,  so  Jerry,  in  this  wreck  of 
a  world,  yearned  toward  Skipper. 

The  squall  ceased  as  abruptly  as  it  had  struck. 
The  Arangi  righted  with  a  jerk  to  an  even  keel, 
leaving  Jerry  stranded  in  the  starboard  scuppers. 
He  trotted  across  the  level  deck  to  Skipper,  who, 
standing  erect  on  wide-spread  legs,  the  bight 
of  the  main  sheet  still  in  his  hand,  was  exclaim 
ing: 

"  Gott-fer-dang !  Wind  he  go !  Rain  he  no 
come !  " 

He  felt  Jerry's  cool  nose  against  his  bare  calf, 
heard  the  joyous  sniff,  and  bent  and  caressed  him. 
In  the  darkness  he  could  not  see,  but  his  heart 
warmed  with  knowledge  that  Jerry's  tail  was 
surely  bobbing. 

Many  of  the  frightened  return  boys  had 
crowded  on  deck,  and  their  plaintive,  querulous 
voices  sounded  like  the  sleepy  noises  of  a  roost 
of  birds.  Borckman  came  and  stood  by  Van 
Horn's  shoulder,  and  both  men,  stung  to  their 
toes  in  the  tenseness  of  apprehension,  strove  to 


76  JERRY 

penetrate  the  surrounding  blackness  with  their 
eyes,  while  they  listened  with  all  their  ears  for 
any  message  of  the  elements  from  sea  and  air. 

"  Where's  the  rain?"  Borckman  demanded 
peevishly.  "  Always,  wind  first,  the  rain  follows 
and  kills  the  wind.  There  is  no  rain." 

Van  Horn  still  stared  and  listened,  and  made 
no  answer. 

The  anxiety  of  the  two  men  was  sensed  by 
Jerry,  who,  too,  was  on  his  toes.  He  pressed 
a  cool  nose  to  Skipper's  leg,  and  the  rose-kiss 
of  his  tongue  brought  him  the  salt  taste  of  sea- 
water. 

Skipper  bent  suddenly,  rolled  Jerry  with  quick 
roughness  into  the  blanket,  and  deposited  him 
in  the  hollow  between  two  sacks  of  yams  lashed 
on  deck  aft  of  the  mizzenmast.  As  an  after 
thought,  he  fastened  the  blanket  with  a  piece  of 
rope  yarn,  so  that  Jerry  was  as  if  tied  in  a  sack. 

Scarcely  was  this  finished  when  the  spanker 
smashed  across  overhead,  the  headsails  thundered 
with  a  sudden  filling,  while  the  great  mainsail,  with 
all  the  scope  in  the  boom-tackle  caused  by  Van 
Horn's  giving  of  the  sheet,  came  across  and 
fetched  up  to  tautness  on  the  tackle  with  a  crash 
that  shook  the  vessel  and  heeled  her  violently  to 
port.  This  second  knock-down  had  come  from 


JERRY  77 

the  opposite  direction,  and  was  mightier  than  the 
first. 

Jerry  heard  Skipper's  voice  ring  out,  first,  to 
the  mate:  "Stand  by  main-halyards!  Throw 
off  the  turns!  I'll  take  care  of  the  tackle!  "  and, 
next,  to  some  of  the  boat's  crew:  "  Batto!  you 
fella  slack  spanker  tackle  quick  fella !  Ranga ! 
you  fella  let  go  spanker  sheet !  " 

Here  Van  Horn  was  swept  off  his  legs  by  an 
avalanche  of  return  boys  who  had  cluttered  the 
deck  with  the  first  squall.  The  squirming  mass, 
of  which  he  was  part,  slid  down  into  the  barbed 
wire  of  the  port  rail  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
sea. 

Jerry  was  so  secure  in  his  nook  that  he  did 
not  roll  away.  But  when  he  heard  Skipper's 
commands  cease,  and,  seconds  later,  heard  his 
cursing  in  the  barbed  wire,  he  set  up  a  shrill  yelp 
ing  and  clawed  and  scratched  frantically  at  the 
blanket  to  get  out.  Something  had  happened  to 
Skipper.  He  knew  that.  It  was  all  that  he 
knew,  for  he  had  no  thought  of  himself  in  the 
chaos  of  the  ruining  world. 

But  he  ceased  his  yelping  to  listen  to  a  new 
noise  —  a  thunderous  slatting  of  canvas  accom 
panied  by  the  shouts  and  cries.  He  sensed,  and 
sensed  wrongly,  that  it  boded  ill,  for  he  did  not 


78  JERRY 

know  that  it  was  the  mainsail  being  lowered  on 
the  run  after  Skipper  had  slashed  the  boom- 
tackle  across  with  his  sheathe  knife. 

As  the  pandemonium  grew,  he  added  his  own 
yelping  to  it  until  he  felt  a  fumbling  hand  with 
out  the  blanket.  He  stilled  and  sniffed.  No,  it 
was  not  Skipper.  He  sniffed  again  and  recog 
nised  the  person.  It  was  Lerumie,  the  black 
whom  he  had  seen  rolled  on  the  beach  by  Biddy 
only  that  morning,  who,  still  more  recently,  had 
kicked  him  on  his  stub  of  a  tail,  and  who  not 
more  than  a  week  before  he  had  seen  throw  a 
rock  at  Terrence. 

The  rope  yarn  had  been  parted,  and  Lerumie's 
fingers  were  feeling  inside  the  blanket  for  him. 
Jerry  snarled  his  wickedest.  The  thing  was  sac 
rilege.  He,  as  a  white  man's  dog,  was  taboo  to 
all  blacks.  He  had  early  learned  the  law  that  no 
nigger  must  ever  touch  a  white  god's  dog.  Yet 
Lerumie,  who  was  all  of  evil,  at  this  moment 
when  the  world  crashed  about  their  ears,  was  dar 
ing  to  touch  him. 

And  when  the  fingers  touched  him,  his  teeth 
closed  upon  them.  Next,  he  was  clouted  by  the 
black's  free  hand  with  such  force  as  to  tear  his 
clenched  teeth  down  the  fingers  through  skin  and 
flesh  until  the  fingers  went  clear. 


JERRY  79 

Raging  like  a  tiny  fiend,  Jerry  found  himself 
picked  up  by  the  neck,  half-throttled,  and  flung 
through  the  air.  And  while  flying  through  the 
air,  he  continued  to  squall  his  rage.  He  fell  into 
the  sea  and  went  under,  gulping  a  mouthful  of 
salt  water  into  his  lungs,  and  came  up  strangling 
but  swimming.  Swimming  was  one  of  the 
things  he  did  not  have  to  think  about.  He  had 
never  had  to  learn  to  swim,  any  more  than  he 
had  had  to  learn  to  breathe.  In  fact,  he  had 
been  compelled  to  learn  to  walk;  but  he  swam  as 
a  matter  of  course. 

The  wind  screamed  about  him.  Flying  froth, 
driven  on  the  wind's  breath,  filled  his  mouth  and 
nostrils  and  beat  into  his  eyes,  stinging  and  blind 
ing  him.  In  the  struggle  to  breathe,  he,  all  un 
learned  in  the  ways  of  the  sea,  lifted  his  muzzle 
high  in  the  air  to  get  out  of  the  suffocating  water. 
As  a  result,  off  the  horizontal,  the  churning  of 
his  legs  no  longer  sustained  him,  and  he  went 
down  and  under  perpendicularly.  Again  he 
emerged,  strangling  with  more  salt  water  in  his 
windpipe.  This  time,  without  reasoning  it  out, 
merely  moving  along  the  line  of  least  resistance, 
which  was  to  him  the  line  of  greatest  comfort,  he 
straightened  out  in  the  sea  and  continued  so  to 
swim  as  to  remain  straightened  out. 


80  JERRY 

Through  the  darkness,  as  the  squall  spent  itself, 
came  the  slatting  of  the  half-lowered  mainsail, 
the  shrill  voices  of  the  boat's  crew,  a  curse  of 
Borchman's,  and,  dominating  all,  Skipper's  voice, 
shouting : 

"  Grab  the  leech,  you  fella  boys !  Hang  on ! 
Drag  down  strong  fella !  Come  in  mainsheet 
two  blocks !  Jump,  damn  you,  jump !  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT  recognition  of  Skipper's  voice,  Jerry, 
floundering  in  the  stiff  and  crisping  sea  that 
sprang  up  with  the  easement  of  the  wind,  yelped 
eagerly  and  yearningly,  all  his  love  for  his  new 
found  beloved  eloquent  in  his  throat.  But 
quickly  all  sounds  died  away  as  the  Arangi  drifted 
from  him.  And  then,  in  the  loneliness  of  the 
dark,  on  the  heaving  breast  of  the  sea  that  he 
recognised  as  one  more  of  the  eternal  enemies, 
he  began  to  whimper  and  cry  plaintively  like  a 
lost  child. 

Further,  by  the  dim,  shadowy  ways  of  intui 
tion,  he  knew  his  weakness  in  that  merciless  sea 
that  had  no  heart  of  warmth,  that  threatened  the 
unknowable  thing,  vaguely  but  terribly  guessed, 
namely,  death.  As  regarded  himself,  he  did  not 
comprehend  death.  He,  who  had  never  known 
the  time  when  he  was  not  alive,  could  not  con 
ceive  of  the  time  when  he  would  cease  to  be 
alive. 

Yet  it  was  there,  shouting  its  message  of  warn 
ing  through  every  tissue  cell,  every  nerve  quick- 
Si 


82  JERRY 

ness  and  brain  sensitivity  of  him  —  a  totality  of 
sensation  that  foreboded  the  ultimate  catastrophe 
of  life  about  which  he  knew  nothing  at  all,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  he  felt  to  be  the  conclusive 
supreme  disaster.  Although  he  did  not  compre 
hend  it,  he  apprehended  it  no  less  poignantly  than 
do  men  who  know  and  generalise  far  more  deeply 
and  widely  than  mere  four-legged  dogs. 

As  a  man  struggles  in  the  throes  of  nightmare, 
so  Jerry  struggled  in  the  vexed,  salt-suffocating 
sea.  And  so  he  whimpered  and  cried,  lost  child, 
lost  puppy  dog  that  he  was,  less  than  half  a  year 
existent  in  the  fair  workl  sharp  with  joy  and 
suffering.  And  he  wanted  Skipper.  Skipper 
was  a  god. 

On  board  the  Arangi,  relieved  by  the  lowering 
of  her  mainsail,  as  the  fierceness  went  out  of  the 
wind  and  the  cloudburst  of  tropic  rain  began  to 
fall,  Van  Horn  and  Borckman  lurched  toward 
each  other  in  the  blackness. 

"  A  double  squall,"  said  Van  Horn.  "  Hit  us 
to  starboard  and  to  port." 

"  Must  a-split  in  half  just  before  she  hiAs," 
the  mate  concurred. 

"  And  kept  all  the  rain  in  the  second  half — •£ 

Van  Horn  broke  off  with  an  oath. 


JERRY  83 

uHey!  What's  tht  matter  along  you  fella 
boy?  "  he  shouted  to  the  man  at  the  wheed. 

For  the  ketch,  under  her  spanker  which  had 
just  then  been  flat-hauled,  had  come  into  the  wind, 
emptying  her  after  sail  and  permitting  her  head- 
sails  to  fill  on  the  other  tack.  The  Arangi  was 
beginning  to  work  back  approximately  over  the 
course  she  had  just  traversed.  And  this  meant 
that  she  was  going  back  toward  Jerry  floundering 
in  the  sea.  Thus,  the  balance,  on  which  his  life 
titubated,  was  inclined  in  his  favour  by  the  blunder 
of  a  black  steersman. 

Keeping  the  Arangi  QJI  the  new  tack,  Van  Horn 
set  Borckman  clearing  the  mess  of  ropes  on  deck, 
himself,  squatting  in  the  rain,  undertaking  to 
long-splice  the  tackle  he  had  cut.  As  the  rain 
thinned,  so  that  the  crackle  of  it  on  deck  became 
less  noisy,  he  was  attracted  by  a  sound  from  out 
over  the  water.  He  suspended  the  work  of  his 
hands  to  listen,  and,  when  he  recognised  Jerry's 
wailing,  sprang  to  his  feet,  galvanised  into  ac 
tion. 

'  The  pup's  overboard !  "  he  shouted  to  Borck- 
maw  "  Back  your  jib  to  wind'ard!  " 

He  sprang  aft,  scattering  a  cluster  of  return 
^oys  right  and  left. 

"Hey!     You    fella    boat's    crew!      Come    in 


84  JERRY 

spanker  sheet!     Flatten  her  down  good  fella!" 

He  darted  a  look  into  the  binnacle  and  took 
a  hurried  compass  bearing  of  the  sounds  Jerry 
was  making. 

"  Hard  down  your  wheel!"  he  ordered  the 
helmsman,  then  leaped  to  the  wheel  and  put  it 
down  himself,  repeating  over  and  over  aloud, 
"  Nor'east  by  east  a  quarter,  nor'east  by  east  a 
quarter." 

Back  and  peering  into  the  binnacle,  he  listened 
vainly  for  another  wail  from  Jerry  in  the  hope 
of  verifying  his  first  hasty  bearing.  But  not  long 
he  waited.  Despite  the  fact  that  by  his  ma 
noeuvre  the  Arangi  had  been  hove  to,  he  knew 
that  windage  and  sea-driftage  would  quickly  send 
her  away  from  the  swimming  puppy.  He 
shouted  Borckman  to  come  aft  and  haul  in  the 
whaleboat,  while  he  hurried  below  for  his  electric 
torch  and  a  boat  compass. 

The  ketch  was  so  small  that  she  was  compelled 
to  tow  her  one  whaleboat  astern  on  long  double 
painters,  and  by  the  time  the  mate  had  it  it  hauled 
in  under  the  stern,  Van  Horn  was  back.  He  was 
undeterred  by  the  barbed  wire,  lifting  boy  mter 
boy  of  the  boat's  crew  over  it  and  dropping  them 
sprawling  into  the  boat,  himself  following,  as 
the  last,  by  swinging  over  on  the  spanker  boom, 


JERRY  85 

and  calling  his  last  instructions  as  the  painters 
were  cast  off. 

"  Get  a  riding  light  on  deck,  Borckman.  Keep 
her  hove  to.  Don't  hoist  the  mainsail.  Clean 
up  the  decks  and  bend  the  watch  tackle  on  the 
main  boom." 

He  took  the  steering  sweep  and  encouraged  the 
rowers  with :  '  Washee-washee,  good  fella 
washee-washee  !  " —  which  is  the  beche-de-mer  for 
"  row  hard." 

As  he  steered,  he  kept  flashing  the  torch  on 
the  boat  compass  so  that  he  could  keep  headed 
northeast  by  east  a  quarter  east.  Then  he  re 
membered  that  the  boat  compass,  on  such  course, 
deviated  two  whole  points  from  the  Arangi' s 
compass,  and  altered  his  own  course  accordingly. 

Occasionally  he  bade  the  rowers  cease,  while 
he  listened  and  called  for  Jerry.  He  had  them 
row  in  circles,  and  work  back  and  forth,  up  to 
windward  and  down  to  leeward,  over  the  area 
of  dark  sea  that  he  reasoned  must  contain  the 
puppy. 

"  Now  you  fella  boy  listen  ear  belong  you," 
he  said,  toward  the  first.  "  Maybe  one  fella  boy 
hear'm  pickaninny  dog  sing  out,  I  give'm  that 
fella  boy  five  fathom  calico,  two  ten  sticks  to 
bacco.  " 


86  JERRY 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  he  was  offering 
"  Two  ten  fathoms  calico  and  ten  sticks  tobacco  " 
to  the  boy  who  first  heard  "  pickaninny  dog  sing 
out." 

Jerry  was  in  bad  shape.  Not  accustomed  to 
swimming,  strangled  by  the  salt  water  that  lapped 
into  his  open  mouth,  he  was  getting  loggy  when 
first  he  chanced  to  see  the  flash  of  the  captain's 
torch.  This,  however,  he  did  not  connect  with 
Skipper,  and  so  took  no  more  notice  of  it  than 
he  did  of  the  first  stars  showing  in  the  sky.  It 
never  entered  his  mind  that  it  might  be  a  star, 
nor  even  that  it  might  not  be  a  star.  He  con 
tinued  to  wail  and  to  strangle  with  more  salt 
water.  But  when  he  at  length  heard  Skipper's 
voice  he  went  immediately  wild.  He  attempted 
to  stand  up  and  to  rest  his  forepaws  on  Skipper's 
voice  coming  out  of  the  darkness,  as  he  would 
have  rested  his  forepaws  on  Skipper's  leg  had  he 
been  near.  The  result  was  disastrous.  Out  of 
the  horizontal,  he  sank  down  and  under,  coming 
up  with  a  new  spasm  of  strangling. 

This  lasted  for  a  short  time,  during  which  the 
strangling  prevented  him  from  answering  Skip 
per's  cry,  which  continued  to  reach  him.  But 
when  he  could  answer  he  burst  forth  in  a  joyous 


JERRY  87 

yelp.  Skipper  was  coming  to  take  him  out  of 
the  stinging,  biting  sea  that  blinded  his  eyes  and 
hurt  him  to  breathe.  Skipper  was  truly  a  god, 
his  god,  with  a  god's  power  to  save. 

Soon  he  heard  the  rhythmic  clack  of  the  oars 
on  the  thole-pins,  and  the  joy  in  his  own  yelp  was 
duplicated  by  the  joy  in  Skipper's  voice,  which 
kept  up  a  running  encouragement,  broken  by  ob 
jurgations  to  the  rowers. 

"  All  right,  Jerry,  old  man.  All  right,  Jerry. 
All  right.  — Washee-washee,  you  fella  boy! 

—  Coming,  Jerry,  coming.     Stick  it  out,  old  man. 
Stay     with     it.     —  Washee-washee     like-    hell ! 

—  Here  we  are,  Jerry.     Stay  with  it.     Hang  on, 
old    boy,     we'll     get    you.     —  Easy  .  .  .  easy. 
'Vast  washee." 

And  then,  with  amazing  abruptness,  Jerry  saw 
the  whaleboat  dimly  emerge  from  the  gloom 
close  upon  him,  was  blinded  by  the  stab  of  the 
torch  full  in  his  eyes,  and,  even  as  he  yelped  his 
joy,  felt  and  recognised  Skipper's  hand  clutching 
him  by  the  slack  of  the  neck  and  lifting  him  into 
the  air. 

He  landed  wet  and  soppily  against  Skipper's 
rain-wet  chest,  his  tail  bobbing  frantically  against 
Skipper's  containing  arm,  his  body  wriggling,  his 
tongue  dabbing  madly  all  over  Skipper's  chin  and 


88  JERRY 

mouth  and  cheeks  and  nose.  And  Skipper  did 
not  know  that  he  was  himself  wet  and  that  he 
was  in  the  first  shock  of  recurrent  malaria  pre 
cipitated  by  the  wet  and  the  excitement.  He  knew 
only  that  the  puppy  dog,  given  him  only  the  pre 
vious  morning,  was  safe  back  in  his  arms. 

While  the  boat's  crew  bent  to  the  oars,  he 
steered  with  the  sweep  between  his  arm  and  his 
side  in  order  that  he  might  hold  Jerry  with  the 
other  arm. 

'  You  little  son  of  a  gun,"  he  crooned,  and 
continued  to  croon,  over  and  over,  "  You  little 
son  of  a  gun." 

And  Jerry  responded  with  tongue-kisses,  whim 
pering  and  crying  as  is  the  way  of  lost  children 
immediately  after  they  are  found.  Also,  he 
shivered  violently.  But  it  was  not  from  the  cold. 
Rather  was  it  due  to  his  over-strung,  sensitive 
nerves. 

Again  on  board,  Van  Horn  stated  his  reasoning 
to  the  mate. 

'  The  pup  didn't  just  calmly  walk  overboard. 
Nor  was  he  washed  overboard.  I  had  him  fast 
and  triced  in  the  blanket  with  a  rope  yarn." 

He  walked  over,  the  centre  of  the  boat's  crew 
and  of  the  three-score  return  boys  who  were  all 


JERRY  89 

on  deck,  and  flashed  his  torch  on  the  blanket  still 
lying  on  the  yams. 

"  That  proves  it.  The  ropeyarn's  cut.  The 
knot's  still  in  it.  Now  what  nigger  is  responsi 
ble?" 

He  looked  about  at  the  circle  of  dark  faces, 
flashing  the  light  on  them,  and  such  was  the  ac 
cusation  and  anger  in  his  eyes  that  all  eyes  fell 
before  his  or  looked  away. 

"  If  only  the  pup  could  speak,"  he  complained. 
"  He'd  tell  who  it  was." 

He  bent  suddenly  down  to  Jerry,  who  was 
standing  as  close  against  his  legs  as  he  could,  so 
close  that  his  wet  forepaws  rested  on  Skipper's 
bare  feet. 

'  You  know'm,  Jerry,  you  know  the  black 
boy,"  he  said,  his  words  quick  and  exciting,  his 
hand  moving  in  questing  circles  toward  the  blacks. 

Jerry  was  all  alive  on  the  instant,  jumping 
about,  barking  with  short  yelps  of  eagerness. 

"  I  do  believe  the  dog  could  lead  me  to  him," 
Van  Horn  confided  to  the  mate.  u —  Come  on, 
Jerry,  find'm,  sick'm,  chase'm,  shake'm  down. 
Where  is  he,  Jerry?  Find'm.  Find'm." 

All  that  Jerry  knew  was  that  Skipper  wanted 
something.  He  must  find  something  that  Skip- 


90  JERRY 

per  wanted,  and  he  was  eager  to  serve.  He 
pranced  about  aimlessly  and  willingly  for  a  space, 
while  Skipper's  urging  cries  increased  his  excite 
ment.  Then  he  was  struck  by  an  idea,  and  a  most 
definite  idea  it  was.  The  circle  of  boys  broke  to 
let  him  through  as  he  raced  for'ard  along  the 
starboard  side  to  the  tight-lashed  heap  of  trade- 
boxes.  He  put  his  nose  into  the  opening  where 
the  wild-dog  laired,  and  sniffed.  Yes,  the  wild- 
dog  was  inside.  Not  only  did  he  smell  him,  but 
he  heard  the  menace  of  his  snarl. 

He  looked  up  to  Skipper  questioningly.  Was 
it  that  Skipper  wanted  him  to  go  in  after  the 
wild-dog?  But  Skipper  laughed  and  waved  his 
hand  to  show  that  he  wanted  him  to  search  in 
other  places  for  something  else. 

He  leaped  away,  sniffing  in  likely  places  where 
experience  had  taught  him  cockroaches  and  rats 
might  be.  Yet  it  quickly  dawned  on  him  that 
it  was  not  such  things  Skipper  was  after.  His 
heart  was  wild  with  desire  to  serve,  and,  without 
clear  purpose,  he  began  sniffing  legs  of  black 
boys. 

This  brought  livelier  urging  and  encourage 
ments  from  Skipper,  and  made  him  almost  fran 
tic.  That  was  it.  He  must  identify  the  boat's 
crew  and  the  return  boys  by  their  legs.  He  hur- 


JERRY  91 

ried  the  task,  passing  swiftly  from  boy  to  boy, 
until  he  came  to  Lerumie. 

And  then  he  forgot  that  Skipper  wanted  him 
to  do  something.  All  he  knew  was  that  it  was 
Lerumie  who  had  broken  the  taboo  of  his  sacred 
person  by  laying  hands  on  him,  and  that  it  was 
Lerumie  who  had  thrown  him  overboard. 

With  a  cry  of  rage,  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  and 
a  bristle  of  short  neck-hair,  he  sprang  for  the 
black.  Lerumie  fled  down  the  deck,  and  Jerry 
pursued  amid  the  laughter  of  all  the  blacks.  Sev 
eral  times,  in  making  the  circuit  of  the  deck,  he 
managed  to  scratch  the  flying  calves  with  his 
teeth.  Then  Lerumie  took  to  the  main  rigging, 
leaving  Jerry  impotently  to  rage  on  the  deck  be 
neath  him. 

About  this  point  the  blacks  grouped  in  a  semi 
circle  at  a  respectful  distance,  with  Van  Horn 
to  the  fore  beside  Jerry.  Van  Horn  centred  his 
electric  torch  on  the  black  in  the  rigging,  and 
saw  the  long  parallel  scratches  on  the  fingers  of 
the  hand  that  had  invaded  Jerry's  blanket.  He 
pointed  them  out  significantly  to  Borchman,  who 
stood  outside  the  circle  so  that  no  black  should 
be  able  to  come  at  his  back. 

Skipper  picked  Jerry  up  and  soothed  his  anger 
with: 


92  JERRY 

"  Good  boy,  Jerry.  You  marked  and  sealed 
him.  Some  dog,  you,  some  big  man  dog." 

He  turned  back  to  Lerumie,  illuminating  him 
as  he  clung  in  the  rigging,  and  his  voice  was  harsh 
and  cold  as  he  addressed  him. 

'  What  name  belong  along  you  fella  boy?  "  he 
demanded. 

"  Me  fella  Lerumie,"  came  the  chirping,  qua 
vering  answer. 

"  You  come  along  Pennduffryn?  " 

"  Me  come  along  Meringe." 

Captain  Van  Horn  debated  the  while  he 
fondled  the  puppy  in  his  arms.  After  all,  it  was 
a  return  boy.  In  a  day,  in  two  days  at  most,  he 
would  have  him  landed  and  be  quit  of  him. 

"  My  word,"  he  harangued,  "  me  angry  along 
you.  Me  angry  big  fella  too  much  along  you. 
Me  angry  along  you  any  amount.  What  name 
you  fella  boy  make'm  pickaninny  dog  belong  along 
me  walk  about  along  water?  " 

Lerumie  was  unable  to  answer.  He  rolled  his 
eyes  helplessly,  resigned  to  receive  a  whipping 
such  as  he  had  long  since  bitterly  learned  white 
masters  were  wont  to  administer. 

Captain  Van  Horn  repeated  the  question,  and 
the  black  repeated  the  helpless  rolling  of  his  eyes. 

"  For  two  sticks  tobacco  I  knock'm  seven  bells 


JERRY  93 

outa  you,"  the  Skipper  bullied.  "  Now  me  give 
you  strong  felk  talk  too  much.  You  look'm 
eye  belong  you  one  time  along  this  fella  dog  be 
long  me,  I  knock'm  seven  bells  and  whole  star 
board  watch  outa  you.  Savve !  " 

"  Me  savve,"  Lerumie  plaintively  replied;  and 
the  episode  was  closed. 

The  return  boys  went  below  to  sleep  in  the 
cabin.  Borckman  and  the  boat's  crew  hoisted 
the  mainsail  and  put  the  Arangi  on  her  course. 
And  Skipper,  under  a  dry  blanket  from  below,  lay 
down  to  sleep  with  Jerry,  head  on  his  shoulder, 
in  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  seven  in  the  morning,  when  Skipper  rolled 
him  out  of  the  blanket  and  got  up,  Jerry 
celebrated  the  new  day  by  chasing  the  wild-dog 
back  into  his  hole  and  by  drawing  a  snicker  from 
the  blacks  on  deck  when,  with  a  growl  and  a  flash 
of  teeth,  he  made  Lerumie  side  step  half  a  dozen 
feet  and  yield  the  deck  to  him. 

He  shared  breakfast  with  Skipper,  who,  instead 
of  eating,  washed  down  with  a  cup  of  coffee  fifty 
grains  of  quinine  wrapped  in  a  cigarette  paper, 
and  who  complained  to  the  mate  that  he  would 
have  to  get  under  the  blankets  and  sweat  out  the 
fever  that  was  attacking  him.  Despite  his  chill, 
and  despite  his  teeth  that  were  already  beginning 
to  chatter  while  the  burning  sun  extracted  the 
moisture  in  curling  mist-wreaths  from  the  deck 
planking,  Van  Horn  cuddled  Jerry  in  his  arms 
and  called  him  princeling,  and  prince,  and  a  king, 
and  a  son  of  kings. 

For  Van  Horn  had  often  listened  to  the  recitals 
of  Jerry's  pedigree  by  Tom  Haggin,  over  Scotch- 

94 


JERRY  95 

and-sodas  when  it  was  too  pestilentially  hot  to  go 
to  bed.  And  the  pedigree  was  as  royal-blooded 
as  was  possible  for  an  Irish  terrier  to  possess, 
whose  breed,  beginning  with  the  ancient  Irish 
wolf-hound,  had  been  moulded  and  established  by 
man  in  less  than  two  generations  of  men. 

There  was  Terrence  the  Magnificent  —  de 
scended,  as  Van  Horn  remembered,  from  the 
American-bred  Milton  Droleen,  out  of  the  Queen 
of  County  Antrim,  Breda  Muddler,  which  royal 
bitch,  as  every  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  stud 
books  knows,  goes  back  as  far  as  the  almost  mythi 
cal  Spuds,  with  along  the  way  no  primrose  daily- 
ings  with  black-and-tan  Killeney  Boys  and  Welch 
nondescripts.  And  did  not  Biddy  trace  to  Erin, 
mother  and  star  of  the  breed,  through  a  long 
descendant  out  of  Breda  Mixer,  herself  an  ances 
tress  of  Breda  Muddler?  Nor  could  be  omitted 
from  the  purple  record  the  later  ancestress,  Moya 
Doolen. 

So  Jerry  knew  the  ecstasy  of  loving  and  of 
being  loved  in  the  arms  of  his  love-god,  although 
little  he  knew  of  such  phrases  as  "  king's  son  " 
and  "  son  of  kings,"  save  that  they  connoted  love 
for  him  in  the  same  way  that  Lerumie's  hissing 
noises  connoted  hate.  One  thing  Jerry  knew 
without  knowing  that  he  knew,  namely,  that  in 


96  JERRY 

the  few  hours  he  had  been  with  Skipper  he  loved 
him  more  than  he  had  loved  Derby  and  Bob, 
who,  with  the  exception  of  Mister  Haggin,  were 
the  only  other  white  gods  he  had  ever  known. 
He  was  not  conscious  of  this.  He  merely  loved, 
merely  acted  on  the  prompting  of  his  heart,  or 
head,  or  whatever  organic  or  anatomical  part  of 
him  that  developed  the  mysterious,  delicious,  and 
insatiable  hunger  called  "  love." 

Skipper  went  below.  He  went  all  unheeding 
of  Jerry,  who  padded  softly  at  his  heels  until  the 
companionway  was  reached.  Skipper  was  un 
heeding  of  Jerry  because  of  the  fever  that 
wrenched  his  flesh  and  chilled  his  bones,  that  made 
his  head  seem  to  swell  monstrously,  that  glazed 
the  world  to  his  swimming  eyes  and  made  him 
walk  feebly  and  totteringly  like  a  drunken  man 
or  a  man  very  aged.  And  Jerry  sensed  that  some 
thing  was  wrong  with  Skipper. 

Skipper,  beginning  the  babblings  of  delirium 
which  alternated  with  silent  moments  of  control 
in  order  to  get  below  and  under  blankets,  de 
scended  the  ladder-like  stairs,  and  Jerry,  all-yearn 
ing,  controlled  himself  in  silence  and  watched  the 
slow  descent  with  the  hope  that  when  Skipper 
reached  the  bottom  he  would  raise  his  arms  and 
lift  him  down.  But  Skipper  was  too  far  gone 


JERRY  97 

to  remember  that  Jerry  existed.  He  staggered, 
with  wide-spread  arms  to  keep  from  falling,  along 
the  cabin  floor  for'ard  to  the  bunk  in  the  tiny 
stateroom. 

Jerry  was  truly  of  a  kingly  line.  He  wanted 
to  call  out  and  beg  to  be  taken  down.  But  he 
did  not.  He  controlled  himself,  he  knew  not 
why,  save  that  he  was  possessed  by  a  nebulous 
awareness  that  Skipper  must  be  considered  as  a 
god  should  be  considered,  and  that  this  was  no 
time  to  obtrude  himself  on  Skipper.  His  heart 
was  torn  with  desire,  although  he  made  no  sound, 
and  he  continued  only  to  yearn  over  the  compan 
ion  combing  and  to  listen  to  the  faint  sounds  of 
Skipper's  progress  for'ard. 

But  even  kings  and  their  descendants  have  their 
limitations,  and  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
Jerry  was  ripe  to  cease  from  his  silence.  With 
the  going  below  of  Skipper,  evidently  in  great 
trouble,  the  light  had  gone  out  of  the  day  for 
Jerry.  He  might  have  stalked  the  wild-dog,  but 
no  inducement  lay  there.  Lerumie  passed  by  un 
noticed,  although  he  knew  he  could  bully  him  and 
make  him  give  deck  space.  The  myriad  scents 
of  the  land  entered  his  keen  nostrils,  but  he  made 
no  note  of  them.  Not  even  the  flopping,  belly 
ing  mainsail  overhead,  as  the  Arangi  rolled  be- 


98  JERRY 

calmed,  could  draw  a  glance  of  quizzical  regard 
from  him. 

Just  as  it  was  tremblingly  imperative  that  Jerry 
must  suddenly  squat  down,  point  his  nose  at  the 
zenith,  and  vocalise  his  heart-rending  woe,  an  idea 
came  to  him.  There  is  no  explaining  how  this 
idea  came.  No  more  can  it  be  explained  than 
can  a  human  explain  why,  at  luncheon  to-day,  he 
selects  green  peas  and  rejects  string  beans,  when 
only  yesterday  he  elected  to  choose  string  beans 
and  to  reject  green  peas.  No  more  can  it  be  ex 
plained  than  can  a  human  judge,  sentencing  a  con 
victed  criminal  and  imposing  eight  years'  imprison 
ment  instead  of  the  five  or  nine  years  that  also 
at  the  same  time  floated  upward  in  his  brain, 
explain  why  he  categorically  determined  on  eight 
years  as  the  just,  adequate  punishment.  Since  not 
even  humans,  who  are  almost  half-gods,  can 
fathom  the  mystery  of  the  genesis  of  ideas  and 
the  dictates  of  choice,  appearing  in  their  conscious 
ness  as  ideas,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  of  a  mere 
dog  to  know  the  why  of  the  ideas  that  animate  it 
to  definite  acts  toward  definite  ends. 

And  so  Jerry.  Just  as  he  must  immediately 
howl,  he  was  aware  that  the  idea,  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  idea,  was  there,  in  the  innermost  centre  of 
the  quick-thinkingness  of  him,  with  all  its  compul- 


JERRY  99 

sion.  He  obeyed  the  idea  as  a  marionette  obeys 
the  strings,  and  started  forthwith  down  the  deck 
aft  in  quest  of  the  mate. 

He  had  an  appeal  to  make  to  Borckman. 
Borckman  was  also  a  two-legged  white  god. 
Easily  could  Borckman  lift  him  down  the  precipit 
ous  ladder,  which  was  to  him,  unaided,  a  taboo, 
the  violation  of  which  was  pregnant  with  disaster. 
But  Borckman  had  in  him  little  of  the  heart  of 
love,  which  is  understanding.  Also,  Borckman 
was  busy.  Besides  overseeing  the  continuous  ad 
justment,  by  trimming  of  sails  and  orders  to  the 
helmsman,  of  the  Arangi  to  her  way  on  the  sea, 
and  overseeing  the  boat's  crew  at  its  task  of  wash 
ing  deck  and  polishing  brasswork,  he  was  engaged 
in  steadily  nipping  from  a  stolen  bottle  of  his 
captain's  whiskey  which  he  had  stowed  away  in 
the  hollow  between  the  two  sacks  of  yams  lashed 
on  deck  aft  of  the  mizzenmast. 

Borckman  was  on  his  way  for  another  nip,  after 
having  thickly  threatened  to  knock  seven  bells 
and  the  ten  commandments  out  of  the  black  at 
the  wheel  for  faulty  steering,  when  Jerry  ap 
peared  before  him  and  blocked  the  way  to  his  de 
sire.  But  Jerry  did  not  block  him  as  he  would 
have  blocked  Lerumie,  for  instance.  There  was 
no  showing  of  teeth,  no  bristling  of  neck  hair. 


ioo  JERRY 

Instead,  Jerry  was  all  placation  and  appeal,  all 
softness  of  pleading  in  a  body  denied  speech  that 
nevertheless  was  articulate,  from  wagging  tail  and 
wriggling  sides  to  flat-laid  ears  and  eyes  that  al 
most  spoke,  to  any  human  sensitive  of  understand 
ing. 

But  Borckman  saw  in  his  way  only  a  four-leg 
ged  creature  of  the  brute  world,  which,  in  his 
arrogant  brutalness  he  esteemed  more  brute  than 
himself.  All  the  pretty  picture  of  the  soft  puppy, 
instinct  with  communicativeness,  bursting  with 
tenderness  of  petition,  was  veiled  to  his  vision. 
What  he  saw  was  merely  a  four-legged  animal  to 
be  thrust  aside  while  he  continued  his  lordly  two- 
legged  progress  toward  the  bottle  that  could  set 
maggots  crawling  in  his  brain  and  make  him 
dream  dreams  that  he  was  a  prince,  not  peasant, 
that  he  was  a  master  of  matter  rather  than  a  slave 
of  matter. 

And  thrust  aside  Jerry  was,  by  a  rough  and 
naked  foot,  as  harsh  and  unfeeling  in  its  impact 
as  an  inanimate  breaking  sea  on  a  beach-jut  of 
insensate  rock.  He  half-sprawled  on  the  slip 
pery  deck,  regained  his  balance,  and  stood  still 
and  looked  at  the  white  god  who  had  treated  him 
so  cavalierly.  The  meanness  and  unfairness  had 
brought  from  Jerry  no  snarling  threat  of  retali- 


JERKY  10J 

ation,  such  as  he  would  have  offered  Lerumie  or 
any  other  black.  Nor  in  his  brain  was  any 
thought  of  retaliation.  This  was  no  Lerumie. 
This  was  a  superior  god,  two-legged,  white- 
skinned,  like  Skipper,  like  Mister  Haggin  and 
the  couple  of  other  superior  gods  he  had  known. 
Only  did  he  know  hurt,  such  as  any  child  knows 
under  the  blow  of  a  thoughtless  or  unloving 
mother. 

In  the  hurt  was  mingled  a  resentment.  He 
was  keenly  aware  that  there  were  two  sorts  of 
roughness.  There  was  the  kindly  roughness  of 
love,  such  as  when  Skipper  gripped  him  by  the 
jowl,  shook  him  till  his  teeth  rattled,  and  thrust 
him  away  with  an  unmistakable  invitation  to  come 
back  and  be  so  shaken  again.  Such  roughness,  to 
Jerry,  was  heaven.  In  it  was  the  intimacy  of  con 
tact  with  a  beloved  god  who  in  such  manner 
elected  to  express  a  reciprocal  love. 

But  this  roughness  of  Borckman  was  different. 
It  was  the  other  kind  of  roughness,  in  which  re 
sided  no  warm  affection,  no  heart-touch  of  love. 
Jerry  did  not  quite  understand,  but  he  sensed 
the  difference  and  resented,  without  expressing  in 
action,  the  wrongness  and  unfairness  of  it.  So 
he  stood,  after  regaining  balance,  and  soberly  re 
garded,  in  a  vain  effort  to  understand,  the  mate 


-id  ,         JERRY 

with  a  bottle-bottom  inverted  skyward,  the  mouth 
to  his  lips,  the  while  his  throat  made  gulping 
contractions  and  noises.  And  soberly  he  contin 
ued  to  regard  the  mate  when  he  went  aft  and 
threatened  to  knock  the  "  Song  of  Songs  "  and 
the  rest  of  the  Old  Testament  out  of  the  black 
helmsman  whose  smile  of  teeth  were  as  humbly 
gentle  and  placating  as  Jerry's  had  been  when  he 
made  his  appeal. 

Leaving  this  god  as  a  god  unliked  and  not  un 
derstood,  Jerry  sadly  trotted  back  to  the  compan- 
ionway  and  yearned  his  head  over  the  combing  in 
the  direction  in  which  he  had  seen  Skipper  dis 
appear.  What  bit  at  his  consciousness  and  was  a 
painful  incitement  in  it,  was  his  desire  to  be  with 
Skipper  who  was  not  right  and  who  was  in  trouble. 
He  wanted  Skipper.  He  wanted  to  be  with  him, 
first  and  sharply,  because  he  loved  him,  and, 
second  and  dimly,  because  he  might  serve  him. 
And,  wanting  Skipper,  in  his  helplessness  and 
youngness  in  experience  of  the  world,  he  whim 
pered  and  cried  his  heart  out  across  the  compan 
ion  combing,  and  was  too  clean  and  direct  in  his 
sorrow  to  be  deflected  by  outburst  of  anger  against 
the  niggers,  on  deck  and  below,  who  chuckled  at 
him  and  derided  him. 

From  the  crest  of  the   combing  to  the  cabin 


JERRY  103 

floor  was  seven  feet.  He  had,  only  a  few  hours 
before  climbed  the  precipitous  stairway;  but  it 
was  impossible,  and  he  knew  it,  to  descend  the 
stairway.  And  yet,  at  the  last,  he  dared  it.  So 
compulsive  was  the  prod  of  his  heart  to  gain  to 
Skipper  at  any  cost,  so  clear  was  his  comprehen 
sion  that  he  could  not  climb  down  the  ladder  head 
first,  with  no  grippingness  of  legs  and  feet  and 
muscles  such  as  were  possible  in  the  ascent,  that 
he  did  not  attempt  it.  He  launched  outward  and 
down,  in  one  magnificent  and  love-heroic  leap. 
He  knew  that  he  was  violating  a  taboo  of  life, 
just  as  he  knew  he  was  violating  a  taboo  if  he 
sprang  into  Meringe  Lagoon  where  swam  the 
dreadful  crocodiles.  Great  love  is  always  capa 
ble  of  expressing  itself  in  sacrifice  and  self  immola 
tion.  And  only  for  love,  and  for  no  lesser  reason, 
could  Jerry  have  made  the  leap. 

He  struck  on  his  side  and  head.  The  one  im 
pact  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him;  the  other 
stunned  him.  Even  in  his  unconsciousness,  lying 
on  his  side  and  quivering,  he  made  rapid,  spas 
modic  movements  of  his  legs  as  if  running  for'ard 
to  Skipper.  The  boys  looked  on  and  laughed, 
and  when  he  no  longer  quivered  and  churned  his 
legs  they  continued  to  laugh.  Born  in  savagery, 
having  lived  in  savagery  all  their  lives  and  known 


104  JERRY 

naught  else,  their  sense  of  humour  was  corre 
spondingly  savage.  To  them,  the  sight  of  a 
stunned  and  possibly  dead  puppy  was  a  side-split 
ting,  ludicrous  event. 

Not  until  the  fourth  minute  ticked  off  did 
returning  consciousness  enable  Jerry  to  crawl  to 
his  feet  and  with  wide-spread  legs  and  swimming 
eyes  adjust  himself  to  the  Arangi's  roll.  Yet 
with  the  first  glimmerings  of  consciousness  per 
sisted  the  one  idea  that  he  must  gain  to  Skipper. 
Blacks?  In  his  anxiety  and  solicitude  and  love 
they  did  not  count.  He  ignored  the  chuckling, 
grinning,  girding  black  boys,  who,  but  for  the  fact 
that  he  was  under  the  terrible  aegis  of  the  big 
fella  white  marster  would  have  delighted  to  kill 
and  eat  the  puppy,  who  in  the  process  of  training, 
was  proving  a  most  capable  nigger-chaser.  With 
out  a  turn  of  the  head  or  roll  of  eye,  aristocrati 
cally  positing  their  non-existingness  to  their  faces, 
he  trotted  forward  along  the  cabin  floor  and  into 
the  stateroom  where  Skipper  babbled  maniacally 
in  the  bunk. 

Jerry,  who  had  never  had  malaria,  did  not 
comprehend.  But  in  his  heart  he  knew  great 
trouble  in  that  Skipper  was  in  trouble.  Skipper 
did  not  recognise  him,  even  when  he  sprang  into 
the  bunk,  walked  across  Skipper's  heaving  chest, 


JERRY  105 

and  licked  the  acrid  sweat  of  fever  from  Skipper's 
face.  Instead  Skipper's  wildly-thrashing  arms 
brushed  him  away  and  flung  him  violently  against 
the  side  of  the  bunk. 

This  was  roughness  that  was  not  love-rough 
ness.  Nor  was  it  the  roughness  of  Borckman 
spurning  him  away  with  his  foot.  It  was  part  of 
Skipper's  trouble.  Jerry  did  not  reason  this  con 
clusion.  But,  and  to  the  point,  he  acted  upon  it  as 
if  he  had  reasoned  it.  In  truth,  through  inade 
quacy  of  one  of  the  most  adequate  languages  in 
the  world,  it  can  only  be  said  that  Jerry  sensed 
the  new  difference  of  this  roughness. 

He  sat  up,  just  out  of  range  of  one  restless, 
beating  arm,  yearned  to  come  closer  and  lick  again 
the  face  of  the  god  who  knew  him  not  and  who, 
he  knew,  loved  him  well,  and  palpitatingly  shared 
and  suffered  all  Skipper's  trouble. 

"  Eh,  Clancey,"  Skipper  babbled.  "  It's  a  fine 
job  this  day,  and  no  better  crew  to  clean  up  after 
the  dubs  of  motormen.  .  .  .  Number  three  jack, 
Clancey.  Get  under  the  for'ard  end."  And,  as 
the  spectres  of  his  nightmare  metamorphosed: 
"  Hush,  darling,  talking  to  your  dad  like  that, 
telling  him  the  combing  of  your  sweet  and  golden 
hair.  As  if  I  couldn't,  that  have  combed  it  these 
seven  years  —  better  than  your  mother,  darling, 


io6  JERRY 

better  than  your  mother.  I'm  the  one  gold-medal 
prize-winner  in  the  combing  of  his  lovely  daugh 
ter's  hair.  .  .  .  She's  broken  out !  Give  her  the 
wheel  aft  there!  Jib  and  fore-topsail  halyards! 
Full  and  by,  there !  A  good  full !  .  .  .  Ah,  she 
takes  it  like  the  beauty  fairy  boat  that  she  is  upon 
the  sea.  .  .  .  I'll  just  lift  that  —  sure,  the  limit. 
Blackey,  when  you  pay  as  much  to  see  my  cards 
as  I'm  going  to  pay  to  see  yours,  you're  going  to 
see  some  cards,  believe  me!" 

And  so  the  farrago  of  unrelated  memories  con 
tinued  to  rise  vocal  on  Skipper's  lips  to  the  heave 
of  his  body  and  the  beat  of  his  arms,  while  Jerry, 
crouched  against  the  side  of  the  bunk,  mourned 
and  mourned  his  grief  and  inability  to  be  of  help. 
All  that  was  occurring  was  beyond  him.  He 
knew  no  more  of  poker  hands  than  did  he  know 
of  getting  ships  under  way,  of  clearing  up  surface 
car  wrecks  in  New  York,  or  of  combing  the  long 
yellow  hair  of  a  loved  daughter  in  a  Harlem  flat. 

"  Both  dead,"  Skipper  said  in  a  change  of  delir 
ium.  He  said  it  quietly,  as  if  announcing  the  time 
of  day,  then  wailed:  "  But,  oh,  the  bonnie, 
bonnie  braids  of  all  the  golden  hair  of  her!  " 

He  lay  motionlessly  for  a  space  and  sobbed  out 
a  breaking  heart.  This  was  Jerry's  chance.  He 
crept  inside  the  arm  that  tossed,  snuggled  against 


JERRY  107 

Skipper's  side,  laid  his  head  on  Skipper's  shoulder, 
tis  cool  nose  barely  touching  Skipper's  cheek,  and 
felt  the  arm  curl  about  him  and  press  him  closer. 
The  hand  bent  from  the  wrist  and  caressed  him 
protectingly,  and  the  warm  contact  of  his  velvet 
body  put  a  change  in  Skipper's  sick  dreams,  for 
he  began  to  mutter  in  cold  and  bitter  ominousness: 
"  Any  nigger  that  as  much  as  bats  an  eye  at 
that  puppy.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN,  in  half  an  hour,  Van  Horn's  sweat 
culminated  in  profusion,  it  marked  the 
breaking  of  the  malarial  attack.  Great  physical 
relief  was  his,  and  the  last  mists  of  delirium  ebbed 
from  his  brain.  But  he  was  left  limply  weak, 
and,  after  tossing  off  the  blankets  and  recognising 
Jerry,  he  fell  into  a  refreshing  natural  sleep. 

Not  till  two  hours  later  did  he  awake  and  start 
to  go  on  deck.  Half  way  up  the  companion,  he 
deposited  Jerry  on  deck  and  went  back  to  the 
stateroom  for  a  forgotten  bottle  of  quinine. 
But  he  did  not  immediately  return  to  Jerry.  The 
long  drawer  under  Borckman's  bunk  caught  his 
eye.  The  wooden  button  that  held  it  shut  was 
gone,  and  it  was  far  out  and  hanging  at  an  angle 
that  jammed  it  and  prevented  it  from  falling  to 
the  floor.  The  matter  was  serious.  There  was 
little  doubt  in  his  mind,  had  the  drawer,  in  the 
midst  of  the  squall  of  the  previous  night,  fallen  to 
the  floor,  that  no  Arangi  and  no  soul  of  the 
eighty  souls  on  board  would  have  been  left.  For 
the  drawer  was  filled  with  a  heterogeneous  mess 

108 


JERRY  109 

of  dynamite  sticks,  boxes  of  fulminating  caps,  coils 
of  fuses,  lead  sinkers,  iron  tools,  and  many  boxes 
of  rifle,  revolver  and  pistol  cartridges.  He 
sorted  and  arranged  the  various  contents,  and  with 
a  screwdriver  and  a  longer  screw  reattached  the 
button. 

In  the  meantime,  Jerry  was  encountering  new 
adventure  not  of  the  pleasantest.  While  waiting 
for  Skipper  to  return,  Jerry  chanced  to  see  the 
wild-dog  brazenly  lying  on  deck  a  dozen  feet  from 
his  lair  in  the  trade  boxes.  Instantly,  stiffly 
crouching,  Jerry  began  to  stalk.  Success  seemed 
assured,  for  the  wild-dog,  with  closed  eyes,  was 
apparently  asleep. 

And  at  this  moment  the  mate,  two-legging  it 
along  the  deck  from  for'ard  in  the  direction  of 
the  bottle  stored  between  the  yam  sacks,  called, 
"  Jerry,"  in  a  remarkably  husky  voice.  Jerry 
flattened  his  filbert-shaped  ears  and  wagged  his 
tail  in  acknowledgment,  but  advertised  his  inten 
tion  of  continuing  to  stalk  his  enemy.  And  at 
sound  of  the  mate's  voice  the  wild-dog  flung  quick- 
opened  eyes  in  Jerry's  direction  and  flashed  into 
his  burrow,  where  he  immediately  turned  around, 
thrust  his  head  out  with  a  show  of  teeth,  and 
snarled  triumphant  defiance. 

Balked  of  his  quarry  by  the  inconsiderateness 


no  JERRY 

of  the  mate,  Jerry  trotted  back  to  the  head  of  the 
companion  to  wait  for  Skipper.  But  Borckman, 
whose  brain  was  well  a-crawl  by  virtue  of  the 
many  nips,  clung  to  a  petty  idea  after  the  fashion 
of  drunken  men.  Twice  again,  imperatively,  he 
called  Jerry  to  him,  and  twice  again,  with  flat 
tened  ears  of  gentleness  and  wagging  tail,  Jerry 
good-naturedly  expressed  his  disinclination. 
Next,  he  yearned  his  head  over  the  combing  and 
into  the  cabin  after  Skipper. 

Borckman  remembered  his  first  idea  and  con 
tinued  to  the  bottle,  which  he  generously  in 
verted  skyward.  But  the  second  idea,  petty  as  it 
was,  persisted;  and,  after  swaying  and  mumbling 
to  himself  for  a  time,  after  unseeingly  making 
believe  to  study  the  crisp  fresh  breeze  that  filled 
the  Arangi's  sails  and  slanted  her  deck,  and,  after 
sillily  attempting  on  the  helmsman  to  portray 
eagle-like  vigilance  in  his  drink-swimming  eyes, 
he  lurched  amidships  toward  Jerry. 

Jerry's  first  intimation  of  Borckman's  arrival 
was  a  cruel  and  painful  clutch  on  his  flank  and 
groin  that  made  him  cry  out  in  pain  and  whirl 
around.  Next,  as  the  mate  had  seen  Skipper  do 
in  play,  Jerry  had  his  jowls  seized  in  a  tooth- 
clattering  shake  that  was  absolutely  different 
from  the  Skipper's  rough  love-shake.  His  head 


JERRY  in 

and  body  were  shaken,  his  teeth  clattered  pain 
fully,  and  with  the  roughest  of  roughness  he  was 
flung  part  way  down  the  slippery  slope  of  deck. 

Now  Jerry  was  a  gentleman.  All  the  soul  of 
courtesy  was  in  him  for  equals  and  superiors. 
After  all,  even  in  an  inferior  like  the  wild-dog, 
he  did  not  consciously  press  an  advantage  very 
far  —  never  extremely  far.  In  his  stalking  and 
rushing  of  the  wild-dog  he  had  been  more  sound 
and  fury  than  an  overbearing  bully.  But  with 
a. superior,  with  a  two-legged  white  god  like  Borck- 
man,  there  was  more  a  demand  upon  his  control, 
restraint,  and  inhibition  of  primitive  promptings. 
He  did  not  want  to  play  with  the  mate  a  game 
that  he  ecstatically  played  with  Skipper,  because 
he  had  experienced  no  similar  liking  for  the  mate, 
two-legged  white  god  that  he  was. 

And  still  Jerry  was  all  gentleness.  He  came 
back  in  a  feeble  imitation  of  the  whole-hearted 
rush  that  he  had  learned  to  make  on  Skipper. 
He  was,  in  truth,  acting,  play-acting,  attempting 
to  do  what  he  had  no  heart-prompting  to  do.  He 
made  believe  to  play,  and  uttered  simulated 
growls  that  failed  of  the  verity  of  simulation. 

He  bobbed  his  tail  good-naturedly  and 
friendly,  and  growled  ferociously  and  friendly; 
but  the  keenness  of  the  drunkenness  of  the  mate 


ii2  JERRY 

discerned  the  difference  and  aroused  in  him, 
vaguely,  the  intuition  of  difference,  of  play-act 
ing,  of  cheating.  Jerry  was  cheating  —  out  of 
his  heart  of  consideration.  Borckman  drunkenly 
recognised  the  cheating  without  crediting  the 
heart  of  good  behind  it.  On  the  instant  he  was 
antagonistic.  Forgetting  that  he  was  only  a 
brute,  he  posited  that  this  was  no  more  than  a 
brute  with  which  he  strove  to  play  in  the  genial 
comradely  way  that  the  Skipper  played. 

Red  war  was  inevitable  —  not  first  on  Jerry's 
part,  but  on  Borckman's  part.  Borckman  felt 
the  abysmal  urgings  of  the  beast,  as  a  beast,  to 
prove  himself  master  of  this  four-legged  beast. 
Jerry  felt  his  jowl  and  jaw  clutched  still  more 
harshly  and  hardly,  and,  with  increase  of  harsh 
ness  and  hardness,  he  was  flung  farther  down  the 
deck,  which,  on  account  of  its  growing  slant  due 
to  heavier  gusts  of  wind,  had  become  a  steep  and 
slippery  hill. 

He  came  back,  clawing  frantically  up  the  slope 
that  gave  him  little  footing;  and  he  came  back, 
no  longer  with  poorly  attempted  simulation  of 
ferocity,  but  impelled  by  the  first  flickerings  of 
real  ferocity.  He  did  not  know  this.  If  he 
thought  at  all,  he  was  under  the  impression  that 
he  was  playing  the  game  as  he  had  played  it 


JERRY  113 

with  Skipper.  In  short,  he  was  taking  an  interest 
in  the  game,  although  a  radically  different  interest 
from  what  he  had  taken  with  Skipper. 

This  time  his  teeth  flashed  quicker  and  with 
deeper  intent  at  the  jowl-clutching  hand,  and, 
missing,  he  was  seized  and  flung  down  the  smooth 
incline  harder  and  farther  than  before.  He  was 
growing  angry,  as  he  clawed  back,  though  he  was 
not  conscious  of  it.  But  the  mate,  being  a  man, 
albeit  a  drunken  one,  sensed  the  change  in  Jerry's 
attack  ere  Jerry  dreamed  there  was  any  change 
in  it.  And  not  only  did  Borckman  sense  it,  but 
it  served  as  a  spur  to  drive  him  back  into  primi 
tive  beastliness,  and  to  fight  to  master  this  puppy 
as  a  primitive  man,  under  dissimilar  provocation, 
might  have  fought  with  the  members  of  the  first 
litter  stolen  from  a  wolf-den  among  the  rocks. 

True,  Jerry  could  trace  as  far  back.  His 
ancient  ancestors  had  been  Irish  wolf-hounds, 
and,  long  before  that,  the  ancestors  of  the  wolf 
hounds  had  been  wolves.  The  note  in  Jerry's 
growls  changed.  The  unforgotten  and  inefface 
able  past  strummed  the  fibres  of  his  throat.  His 
teeth  flashed  with  fierce  intent,  in  the  desire  of 
sinking  as  deep  in  the  man's  hand  as  passion  could 
drive.  For  Jerry  by  this  time  was  all  passion. 
He  had  leaped  back  into  the  dark  stark  rawness 


n4  JERRY 

of  the  early  world  almost  as  swiftly  as  had  Borck- 
man.  And  this  time  his  teeth  scored,  ripping 
the  tender  and  sensitive  skin  and  flesh  of  all  the 
inside  of  the  first  and  second  joints  of  Borckman's 
right  hand.  Jerry's  teeth  were  needles  that  stung, 
and  Borckman,  gaining  the  grasp  on  Jerry's  jaw, 
flung  him  away  and  down  so  that  almost  he  hit 
the  Arangi's  tiny  rail  ere  his  clawing  feet  stopped 
him. 

Van  Horn,  having  finished  his  arrangement  and 
repair  of  the  explosive-filled  drawer  under  the 
mate's  bunk,  climbed  up  the  companion  steps,  saw 
the  battle,  paused,  and  quietly  looked  on. 

But  he  looked  across  a  million  years,  at  two 
mad  creatures  who  had  slipped  the  leash  of  the 
generations  and  who  were  back  in  the  darkness 
of  spawning  life  ere  dawning  intelligence  had 
modified  the  chemistry  of  such  life  to  softness  of 
consideration.  What  stirred  in  the  brain-crypts 
of  Borckman's  heredity,  stirred  in  the  brain-crypts 
of  Jerry's  heredity.  Time  had  gone  backward 
for  both.  All  the  endeavour  and  achievement  of 
the  ten  thousand  generations  was  not,  and,  as 
wolf-dog  and  wild-man,  the  combat  was  between 
Jerry  and  the  mate.  Neither  saw  Van  Horn, 
who  was  inside  the  companionway  hatch,  his  eyes 
level  with  the  combing. 


JERRY  115 

To  Jerry,  Borckman  was  now  no  more  a  god 
than  was  he  himself  a  mere,  smooth-coated  Irish 
terrier.  Both  had  forgotten  the  million  years 
stamped  into  their  heredity  more  feebly,  less 
erasably,  than  what  had  been  stamped  in  prior 
to  the  million  years.  Jerry  did  not  know  drunk 
enness,  but  he  did  know  unfairness;  and  it  was 
with  raging  indignation  that  he  knew  it.  Borck 
man  fumbled  his  next  counter  to  Jerry's  attack, 
missed,  and  had  both  hands  slashed  in  quick  suc 
cession  ere  he  managed  to  send  the  puppy  sliding. 

And  still  Jerry  came  back.  As  any  screaming 
creature  of  the  jungle,  he  hysterically  squalled 
his  indignation.  But  he  made  no  whimper.  Nor 
did  he  wince  or  cringe  to  the  blows.  He  bored 
straight  in,  striving,  without  avoiding  a  blow,  to 
beat  and  meet  the  blow  with  his  teeth.  So  hard 
was  he  flung  down  the  last  time  that  his  side 
smashed  painfully  against  the  rail,  and  Van  Horn 
cried  out: 

"  Cut  that  out,  Borckman !  Leave  the  puppy 
alone!" 

The  mate  turned  in  the  startle  of  surprise  at 
being  observed.  The  sharp,  authoritative  words 
of  Van  Horn  were  a  call  across  the  million  years. 
Borckman's  anger-convulsed  face  ludicrously  at 
tempted  a  sheepish,  deprecating  grin,  and  he  was 


u6  JERRY 

just  mumbling,  "  We  was  only  playing,"  when 
Jerry  arrived  back,  leaped  in  the  air,  and  sank 
his  teeth  into  the  offending  hand. 

Borckman  immediately  and  insanely  went  back 
across  the  million  years.  An  attempted  kick  got 
his  ankle  scored  for  his  pains.  He  gibbered  his 
own  rage  and  hurt,  and,  stooping,  dealt  Jerry  a 
tremendous  blow  alongside  the  head  and  neck. 
Being  in  mid-leap  when  he  received  the  blow, 
Jerry  was  twistingly  somersaulted  sidewise  be 
fore  he  struck  the  deck  on  his  back.  As  swiftly 
as  he  could  scramble  to  footing  and  charge,  he 
returned  to  the  attack,  but  he  was  checked  by 
Skipper's: 

"Jerry!     Stop  it!     Come  here!" 

He  obeyed,  but  only  by  prodigious  effort,  his 
neck  bristling  and  his  lips  writhing  clear  of  his 
teeth  as  he  passed  the  mate.  For  the  first  time 
there  was  a  whimper  in  his  throat;  but  it  was  not 
the  whimper  of  fear,  nor  of  pain,  but  of  outrage, 
and  of  desire  to  continue  the  battle  which  he  strug 
gled  to  control  at  Skipper's  behest. 

Stepping  out  on  deck,  Skipper  picked  him  up 
and  patted  and  soothed  him,  the  while  he  ex 
pressed  his  mind  to  the  mate. 

"  Borckman,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed.  You 
ought  to  be  shot  or  have  your  block  knocked  off 


JERRY  117 

for  this.  A  puppy,  a  little  puppy  scarcely  weaned. 
For  two  cents  I'd  give  you  what-for  myself. 
The  idea  of  it.  A  little  puppy,  a  weanling  little 
puppy.  Glad  your  hands  are  ripped.  You  de 
served  it.  Hope  you  get  blood-poisoning  in 
them.  Besides,  you're  drunk.  Go  below  and 
turn  in,  and  don't  you  dare  come  on  deck  until 
you're  sober.  Savve?" 

And  Jerry,  far-journeyer  across  life  and  across 
the  history  of  all  life  that  goes  to  make  the  world, 
strugglingly  mastering  the  abysmal  slime  of  the 
pre-historic  with  the  love  that  had  come  into  ex 
istence  and  had  become  warp  and  woof  of  him 
in  far  later  time,  his  wrath  of  ancientness  still 
faintly  reverberating  in  his  throat  like  the  rum 
blings  of  a  passing  thunder  storm,  knew,  in  the 
wide  warm  ways  of  feeling,  the  augustness  and 
righteousness  of  his  Skipper.  Skipper  was  in 
truth  a  god  who  did  right,  who  was  fair,  who 
protected,  and  who  imperiously  commanded  this 
other  and  lesser  god  that  slunk  away  before  his 
anger. 


CHAPTER  IX 

JERRY  and  Skipper  shared  the  long  after 
noon-watch  together,  the  latter  being  guilty 
of  recurrent  chuckles  and  exclamations  such  as: 
"  Gott-fer-dang,  Jerry,  believe  me}  you're  some 
fighter  and  all  dog  "  ;  or,  "  You're  a  proper  man's 
dog,  you  are,  a  lion  dog.  I  bet  the  lion  don't 
live  that  could  get  your  goat." 

And  Jerry,  understanding  none  of  the  words, 
with  the  exception  of  his  own  name,  nevertheless 
knew  that  the  sounds  made  by  Skipper  were  broad 
of  praise  and  warm  of  love.  And  when  Skipper 
stooped  and  rubbed  his  ears,  or  received  a  rose- 
kiss  on  extended  fingers,  or  caught  him  up  in 
his  arms,  Jerry's  heart  was  nigh  to  bursting. 
For  what  greater  ecstasy  can  be  the  portion  of 
any  creature  than  that  it  be  loved  by  a  god  ?  This 
was  just  precisely  Jerry's  ecstasy.  This  was  a 
god,  a  tangible,  real,  three-dimensioned  god  who 
went  about  and  ruled  his  world  in  a  loin-cloth  and 
on  two  bare  legs  and  who  loved  him  with  croon 
ing  noises  in  throat  and  mouth  and  with  two  wide 
spread  arms  that  folded  him  in. 

118 


JERRY  119 

At  four  o'clock,  measuring  a  glance  at  the  after 
noon  sun  and  gauging  the  speed  of  the  Arangi 
through  the  water  in  relation  to  the  closeness  of 
Su'u,  Van  Horn  went  below  and  roughly  shook 
the  mate  awake.  Until  both  returned,  Jerry  held 
the  deck  alone.  But  for  the  fact  that  the  white 
gods  were  there  below  and  were  certain  to  be  back 
at  any  moment,  not  many  moments  would  Jerry 
have  held  the  deck,  for  every  lessened  mile  be 
tween  the  return  boys  and  Malaita  contributed  a 
rising  of  their  spirits,  and  under  the  imminence 
of  their  old-time  independence,  Lerumie,  as  an 
instance  of  many  of  them,  with  strong  gustatory 
sensations  and  a  positive  drooling  at  the  mouth, 
regarded  Jerry  in  terms  of  food  and  vengeance 
that  were  identical. 

Flat-hauled  on  the  crisp  breeze,  the  Arangi 
closed  in  rapidly  with  the  land.  Jerry  peered 
through  the  barbed  wire,  sniffing  the  air,  Skipper 
beside  him  and  giving  orders  to  the  mate  and 
helmsman.  The  heap  of  trade-boxes  was  now 
unlashed,  and  the  boys  began  opening  and  shut 
ting  them.  What  gave  them  particular  delight 
was  the  ringing  of  the  bell  with  which  each  box 
was  equipped  and  which  rang  whenever  a  lid  was 
raised.  Their  pleasure  in  the  toy-like  contrivance 
was  that  of  children,  and  each  went  back  again 


120  JERRY 

and  again  to  unlock  his  own  box  and  make  the 
bell  ring. 

Fifteen  of  the  boys  were  to  be  landed  at  Su'u, 
and  with  wild  gesticulations  and  cries  they  began 
to  recognise  and  point  out  the  infinitesimal  de 
tails  of  the  landfall  of  the  only  spot  they  had 
known  on  earth  prior  to  the  day,  three  years 
before,  when  they  had  been  sold  into  slavery  by 
their  fathers,  uncles,  and  chiefs. 

A  narrow  neck  of  water,  scarcely  a  hundred 
yards  across,  gave  entrance  to  a  long  and  tiny 
bay.  The  shore  was  massed  with  mangroves  and 
dense,  tropical  vegetation.  There  was  no  sign 
of  houses  nor  of  human  occupancy,  although  Van 
Horn,  staring  at  the  dense  jungle  so  close  at 
hand,  knew  as  a  matter  of  course  that  scores,  and 
perhaps  hundreds,  of  pairs  of  human  eyes  were 
looking  at  him. 

"  Smell  'm,  Jerry,  smell  'm,"  he  encouraged. 

And  Jerry's  hair  bristled  as  he  barked  at  the 
mangrove  wall,  for  truly  his  keen  scent  informed 
him  of  lurking  niggers. 

"  If  I  could  smell  like  him,"  the  captain  said 
to  the  mate,  "  there  wouldn't  be  any  risk  at  all 
of  my  ever  losing  my  head." 

But  Borckman  made  no  reply  and  sullenly  went 
about  his  work.  There  was  little  wind  in  the  bay, 


JERRY  i2i 

and  the  Arangi  slowly  forged  in  and  dropped 
anchor  in  thirty  fathoms.  So  steep  was  the  slope 
of  the  harbour  bed  from  the  beach  that  even  in 
such  excessive  depth  the  Arangi' 's  stern  swung 
in  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  mangroves. 

Van  Horn  continued  to  cast  anxious  glances  at 
the  wooded  shore.  For  Su'u  had  an  evil  name. 
Since  the  schooner  Fair  Hathaway,  recruiting 
labour  for  the  Queensland  plantations,  had  been 
captured  by  the  natives  and  all  hands  slain 
fifteen  years  before,  no  vessel,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Arangi,  had  dared  to  venture  in  to  Su'u. 
And  most  white  men  condemned  Van  Horn's  reck 
lessness  for  so  venturing. 

Far  up  the  mountains,  that  towered  many  thou 
sands  of  feet  into  the  trade-wind  clouds,  arose 
many  signal  smokes  that  advertised  the  coming 
of  the  vessel.  Far  and  near,  the  Arangi' s  pres 
ence  was  known;  yet  from  the  jungle  so  near  at 
hand  only  shrieks  of  parrots  and  chattering  of 
cockatoos  could  be  heard. 

The  whaleboat,  manned  with  six  of  the  boat's 
crew,  was  drawn  alongside,  and  the  fifteen  Su'u 
boys  and  their  boxes  were  loaded  in.  Under  the 
canvas  flaps  along  the  thwarts,  ready  at  hand 
for  the  rowers,  were  laid  five  of  the  Lee-Enfields. 
On  deck,  another  of  the  boat's  crew,  rifle  in  hand, 


122  JERRY 

guarded  the  remaining  weapons.  Borckman  had 
brought  up  his  rifle  to  be  ready  for  instant  use. 
Van  Horn's  rifle  lay  handy  in  the  stern  sheets 
where  he  stood  near  Tambi,  who  steered  with 
a  long  sweep.  Jerry  raised  a  low  whine  and 
yearned  over  the  rail  after  Skipper,  who  yielded 
and  lifted  him  down. 

The  place  of  danger  was  in  the  boat ;  for  there 
was  little  likelihood,  at  this  particular  time,  of 
a  rising  of  the  return  boys  on  the  Arangi.  Be 
ing  of  Somo,  No-ola,  Langa-Langa,  and  far  Malu, 
they  were  in  wholesome  fear,  did  they  lose  the 
protection  of  their  white  masters,  of  being  eaten 
by  the  Su'u  folk,  just  as  the  Su'u  boys  would  have 
feared  being  eaten  by  the  Somo  and  Langa-Langa 
and  No-ola  folk. 

What  increased  the  danger  of  the  boat  was  the 
absence  of  a  covering  boat.  The  invariable  cus 
tom  of  the  larger  recruiting  vessels  was  to  send 
two  boats  on  any  shore  errand.  While  one 
landed  on  the  beach,  the  other  lay  off  a  short  dis 
tance  to  cover  the  retreat  of  the  shore  party  if 
trouble  broke  out.  Too  small  to  carry  one  boat  on 
deck,  the  Arangi  could  not  conveniently  tow  two 
astern;  so  Van  Horn,  who  was  the  most  daring  of 
the  recruiters,  lacked  this  essential  safeguard. 

Tambi,   under  Van   Horn's  low  uttered  com- 


JERRY  123 

mands,  steered  a  parallel  course  along  the  shore. 
Where  the  mangroves  ceased,  and  where  high 
ground  and  a  beaten  runway  came  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  Van  Horn  motioned  the  rowers  to 
back  water  and  lay  on  their  oars.  High  palms 
and  lofty,  wide-branched  trees  rose  above  the 
jungle  at  this  spot,  and  the  runway  showed  like  the 
entrance  of  a  tunnel  into  the  dense,  green  wall 
of  tropical  vegetation. 

Van  Horn,  regarding  the  shore  for  some  sign 
of  life,  lighted  a  cigar  and  put  one  hand  to  the 
waist-line  of  his  loin-cloth  to  reassure  himself  of 
the  presence  of  the  stick  of  dynamite  that  was 
tucked  between  the  loin-cloth  and  his  skin.  The 
lighted  cigar  was  for  the  purpose,  if  emergency 
arose,  of  igniting  the  fuse  of  the  dynamite.  And 
the  fuse  was  so  short,  with  its  end  split  to  accom 
modate  the  inserted  head  of  a  safety  match,  that 
between  the  time  of  touching  it  off  with  the  live 
cigar  to  the  time  of  the  explosion  not  more  than 
three  seconds  could  elapse.  This  required  quick 
cool  work  on  Van  Horn's  part,  in  case  need  arose. 
In  three  seconds  he  would  have  to  light  the  fuse 
and  throw  the  sputtering  stick  with  directed  aim 
to  its  objective.  However,  he  did  not  expect  to 
use  it,  and  had  it  ready  merely  as  a  precautionary 
measure. 


i24  JERRY 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  the  silence  of  the 
shore  remained  profound.  Jerry  sniffed  Skip 
per's  bare  leg  as  if  to  assure  him  that  he  was 
beside  him  no  matter  what  threatened  from  the 
hostile  silence  of  the  land,  then  stood  up  with 
his  fore-paws  on  the  gunwale  and  continued  to 
sniff  eagerly  and  audibly,  to  prick  his  neck  hair, 
and  to  utter  low  growls. 

"  They're  there,  all  right,"  Skipper  confided  to 
him;  and  Jerry,  with  a  sideward  glance  of  smil 
ing  eyes,  with  a  bobbing  of  tail  and  a  quick  love- 
flattening  of  ears,  turned  his  nose  shoreward  again 
and  resumed  his  reading  of  the  jungle  tale  that 
was  wafted  to  him  on  the  light  fans  of  the  stifling 
and  almost  stagnant  air. 

"  Hey !  "  Van  Horn  suddenly  shouted.  "  Hey, 
you  fella  boy  stick'm  head  out  belong  you  !  " 

As  if  in  a  transformation  scene,  the  apparently 
tenantless  jungle  spawned  into  life.  On  the  in 
stant  a  hundred  stark  savages  appeared.  They 
broke  forth  everywhere  from  the  vegetation.  All 
were  armed,  some  with  Snider  rifles  and  ancient 
horse  pistols,  others  with  bows  and  arrows,  with 
long  throwing  spears,  with  war-clubs,  and  with 
long-handled  tomahawks.  In  a  flash,  one  of  them 
leaped  into  the  sunlight  in  the  open  space  where 
runway  and  water  met.  Save  for  decorations,  he 


JERRY  125 

was  naked  as  Adam  before  the  Fall.  A  soli 
tary  feather  uprose  from  his  kinky,  glossy,  black 
hair.  A  polished  bodkin  of  white  petrified  shell, 
with  sharp-pointed  ends,  thrust  through  a  hole 
in  the  partition  of  his  nostrils,  extended  five 
inches  across  his  face.  About  his  neck,  from  a 
cord  of  twisted  cocoanut  sennit,  hung  an  ivory- 
white  necklace  of  wild-boar's  tusks.  A  garter  of 
white  cowrie  shells  encircled  one  leg  just  below  the 
knee.  A  flaming  scarlet  flower  was  coquettishly 
stuck  over  one  ear,  and  through  a  hole  in  the  other 
ear  was  threaded  a  pig's  tail  so  recently  severed 
that  it  still  bled. 

As  this  dandy  of  Melanesia  leaped  into  the  sun 
shine,  the  Snider  rifle  in  his  hands  came  into  po 
sition,  aimed  from  his  hip,  the  generous  muzzle 
bearing  directly  on  Van  Horn.  No  less  quick  was 
Van  Horn.  With  equal  speed  he  had  snatched 
his  rifle  and  brought  it  to  bear  from  his  hip.  So 
they  stood  and  faced  each  other,  death  in  their 
finger  tips,  forty  feet  apart.  The  million  years 
between  barbarism  and  civilisation  also  yawned 
between  them  across  that  narrow  gulf  of  forty 
feet.  The  hardest  thing  for  modern,  evolved 
man  to  do  is  to  forget  his  ancient  training.  Easiest 
of  all  things  is  it  for  him  to  forget  his  modernity 
and  slip  back  across  time  to  the  howling  ages. 


126  JERRY 

A  lie  in  the  teeth,  a  blow  in  the  face,  a  love-thrust 
of  jealousy  to  the  heart,  in  a  fraction  of  an  in 
stant  can  turn  a  twentieth  century  philosopher  into 
an  ape-like  arborean  pounding  his  chest,  gnashing 
his  teeth,  and  seeing  red. 

So  Van  Horn.  But  with  a  difference.  He 
straddled  time.  He  was  at  one  and  the  same  in 
stant  all  modern,  all  imminently  primitive,  capa 
ble  of  fighting  in  redness  of  tooth  and  claw,  de 
sirous  of  remaining  modern  for  as  long  as  he 
could  with  his  will  master  the  study  of  ebon  black 
of  skin  and  dazzling  white  of  decoration  that  con 
fronted  him. 

A  long  ten  seconds  of  silence  endured.  Even 
Jerry,  he  knew  not  why,  stilled  the  growl  in  his 
throat.  Five  score  of  head-hunting  cannibals  on 
the  fringe  of  the  jungle,  fifteen  Su'u  return  blacks 
in  the  boat,  seven  black  boat's  crew,  and  a  soli 
tary  white  man  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  a  rifle 
at  his  hip,  and  an  Irish  terrier  bristling  against 
his  bare  calf,  kept  the  solemn  pact  of  those  ten 
seconds,  and  no  one  of  them  knew  or  guessed  what 
the  outcome  would  be. 

One  of  the  return  boys,  in  the  bow  of  the  whale- 
boat,  made  the  peace  sign  with  his  palm  extended 
outward  and  weaponless,  and  began  to  chirp  in 
the  unknown  Su'u  dialect.  Van  Horn  held  his 


JERRY  127 

aim  and  waited.  The  dandy  lowered  his  Snider, 
and  breath  came  more  easily  to  the  chests  of  all 
who  composed  the  picture. 

"  Me  good  fella  boy,"  the  dandy  piped,  half 
bird-like  and  half  elf. 

"  You  big  fella  fool  too  much,"  Van  Horn  re 
torted  harshly,  dropping  his  gun  into  the  stern- 
sheets,  motioning  to  rowers  and  steersman  to  turn 
the  boat  around,  and  puffing  his  cigar  as  carelessly 
casual  as  if,  the  moment  before,  life  and  death  had 
not  been  the  debate. 

"  My  word,"  he  went  on  with  fine  irritable  as 
sumption.  u  What  name  you  stick'm  gun  along 
me?  Me  no  kai-kai  (eat)  along  you.  Me  kai- 
kai  along  you,  stomach  belong  me  walk  about. 
You  kai-kai  along  me,  stomach  belong  you  walk 
about.  You  no  like'm  kai-kai  Su'u  boy  belong 
along  you?  Su'u  boy  belong  you  all  the  same 
brother  along  you.  Long  time  before,  three  mon 
soon  before,  me  speak'm  true  speak.  Me  say 
three  monsoon  boy  come  back.  My  word,  three 
monsoon  finish,  boy  stop  along  me  come  back." 

By  this  time  the  boat  had  swung  around,  re 
versing  bow  and  stern,  Van  Horn  pivoting  so 
as  to  face  the  Snider-armed  dandy.  At  another 
signal  from  Van  Horn  the  rowers  backed  water 
and  forced  the  boat,  stern  in,  up  to  the  solid 


128  JERRY 

ground  of  the  runway.  And  each  rower,  his  oar 
in  position  in  case  of  attack,  privily  felt  under  the 
canvas  flap  to  make  sure  of  the  exact  location  of 
his  concealed  Lee-Enfield. 

"  All  right  boy  belong  you  walk  about?  "  Van 
Horn  queried  of  the  dandy,  who  signified  the  af 
firmative  in  the  Solomon  Islands  fashion  by  half- 
closing  his  eyes  and  nodding  his  head  upward,  in 
a  queer,  perky  way. 

"  No  kai-kai'm  Su'u  fella  boy  suppose  walk 
about  along  you?  " 

"  No  fear,"  the  dandy  answered.  "  Suppose'm 
Su'u  fella  boy,  all  right.  Suppose'm  no  fella 
Su'u  boy,  my  word,  big  trouble.  Ishikola,  big 
fella  black  marster  along  this  place,  him  talk'm 
me  talk  along  you.  Him  say  any  amount  bad 
fella  boy  stop'm  along  bush.  Him  say  big  fella 
white  marster  no  walk  about.  Him  say  jolly 
good  big  fella  white  marster  stop'm  along  ship." 

Van  Horn  nodded  in  an  off-hand  way,  as  if 
the  information  were  of  little  value,  although  he 
knew  that  for  this  time  Su'u  would  furnish  him 
no  fresh  recruits.  One  at  a  time,  compelling  the 
others  to  remain  in  their  places,  he  directed  the 
return  boys  astern  and  ashore.  It  was  Solomon 
Islands  tactics.  Crowding  was  dangerous.  Never 
could  the  blacks  be  risked  to  confusion  in  num- 


JERRY  129 

bers.  And  Van  Horn,  smoking*  his  cigar  in  lordly 
indifferent  fashion,  kept  his  apparently  uninter 
ested  eyes  glued  to  each  boy  who  made  his  way 
aft,  box  on  shoulder,  and  stepped  out  on  the  land. 
One  by  one  they  disappeared  into  the  runway  tun 
nel,  and  when  the  last  was  ashore  he  ordered  the 
boat  back  to  the  ship. 

"  Nothing  doing  here  this  trip,"  he  told  the 
mate.  "  We'll  up  hook  and  out  in  the  morning." 

The  quick  tropic  twilight  swiftly  blent  day  and 
darkness.  Overhead  all  stars  were  out.  No 
faintest  breath  of  air  moved  over  the  water,  and 
the  humid  heat  beaded  the  faces  and  bodies  of 
both  men  with  profuse  sweat.  They  ate  their 
deck-spread  supper  languidly  and  ever  and  anon 
used  their  forearms  to  wipe  the  stinging  sweat 
from  their  eyes. 

"  Why  a  man  should  come  to  the  Solomons  — 
beastly  hole,"  the  mate  complained. 

"  Or  stay  on,"  the  captain  rejoined. 

"  I'm  too  rotten  with  fever,"  the  mate  grum 
bled.  "  I'd  die  if  I  left.  Remember,  I  tried  it 
two  years  ago.  It  takes  the  cold  weather  to  bring 
out  the  fever.  I  arrived  in  Sydney  on  my  back. 
They  had  to  take  me  to  hospital  in  an  ambulance. 
I  got  worse  and  worse.  The  doctors  told  me  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  head  back  where  I  got 


130  JERRY 

the  fever.  If  I  did  I  might  live  a  long  time.  If 
I  hung  on  in  Sydney  it  meant  a  quick  finish.  They 
packed  me  on  board  in  another  ambulance.  And 
that's  all  I  saw  of  Australia  for  my  holiday.  I 
don't  want  to  stay  in  the  Solomons.  It's  plain 
hell.  But  I  got  to,  or  croak." 

He  rolled,  at  a  rough  estimate,  thirty  grains  of 
quinine  in  a  cigarette  paper,  regarded  the  result 
sourly  for  a  moment,  then  swallowed  it  at  a  *gulp. 
This  reminded  Van  Horn,  who  reached  for  the 
bottle  and  took  a  similar  dose. 

"  Better  put  up  a  covering  cloth,"  he  suggested. 

Borckman  directed  several  of  the  boat's  crew 
in  the  rigging  up  a  thin  tarpaulin,  like  a  curtain, 
along  the  shore  side  of  the  Arangi.  This  was 
a  precaution  against  any  bushwhacking  bullet 
from  the  mangroves  only  a  hundred  feet  away. 

Van  Horn  sent  Tambi  below  to  bring  up  the 
small  phonograph  and  run  off  the  dozen  or  so 
scratchy,  screechy  records  that  had  already  been 
under  the  needle  a  thousand  times.  Between  rec 
ords,  Van  Horn  recollected  the  girl  and  had  her 
hauled  out  of  her  dark  hole  in  the  lazarette  to 
listen  to  the  music.  She  obeyed  in  fear,  appre 
hensive  that  her  time  had  come.  She  looked 
dumbly  at  the  big  fella  white  master,  her  eyes 
large  with  fright;  nor  did  the  trembling  of  her 


JERRY  131 

body  cease  for  a  long  time  after  he  had  made 
her  lie  down.  The  phonograph  meant  nothing 
to  her.  She  knew  only  fear  —  fear  of  this  terri 
ble  white  man  that  she  was  certain  was  destined  to 
eat  her. 

Jerry  left  the  caressing  hand  of  Skipper  for  a 
moment  to  go  over  and  sniff  her.  This  was  an 
act  of  duty.  He  was  identifying  her  once  again. 
No  matter  what  happened,  no  matter  what  months 
or  years  might  elapse,  he  would  know  her  again 
and  forever  know  her  again.  He  returned  to  the 
free  hand  of  Skipper  that  resumed  its  caressing. 
The  other  hand  held  the  cigar  which  he  was  smok 
ing. 

The  wet  sultry  heat  grew  more  oppressive. 
The  air  was  nauseous  with  the  dank  mucky  odour 
that  cooked  out  of  the  mangrove  swamp.  Row- 
eled  by  the  squeaky  music  to  recollection  of  old- 
world  ports  and  places,  Borckman  lay  on  his  face 
on  the  hot  planking,  beat  a  tattoo  with  his  naked 
toes,  and  gutturally  muttered  an  unending  mono 
logue  of  curses.  But  Van  Horn,  with  Jerry 
panting  under  his  hand,  placidly  and  philosophi 
cally  continued  to  smoke,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar 
when  the  first  gave  out. 

He  roused  abruptly  at  the  faint  wash  of  pad 
dles  which  he  was  the  first  on  board  to  hear.  In 


132  JERRY 

fact,  it  was  Jerry's  low  growl  and  neck-rippling 
of  hair  that  had  keyed  Van  Horn  to  hear.  Pull 
ing  the  stick  of  dynamite  out  from  the  twist  of 
his  loin  cloth  and  glancing  at  the  cigar  to  be  cer 
tain  it  was  alight,  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  lei 
surely  swiftness  and  with  leisurely  swiftness 
gained  the  rail. 

"  What  name  belong  you?  "  was  his  challenge 
to  the  dark. 

"  Me  fella  Ishikola,"  came  the  answer  in  the 
quavering  falsetto  of  age. 

Van  Horn,  before  speaking  again,  loosened  his 
automatic  pistol  half  out  of  its  holster,  and 
shipped  the  holster  around  from  his  hip  till  it 
rested  on  his  groin  conveniently  close  to  his  hand. 

"  How  many  fella  boy  stop  along  you?  "  he  de 
manded. 

"  One  fella  ten-boy  altogether  he  stop,"  came 
the  aged  voice. 

"  Come  alongside  then."  Without  turning  his 
head,  his  right  hand  unconsciously  dropping  close 
to  the  butt  of  the  automatic,  Van  Horn  com 
manded:  "You  fella  Tambi.  Fetch'm  lantern. 
No  feltch'm  this  place.  Fetch'm  aft  along  mizzen 
rigging  and  look  sharp  eye  belong  you." 

Tambi  obeyed,  exposing  the  lantern  twenty  feet 
away  from  where  his  captain  stood.  This  gave 


JERRY  133 

Van  Horn  the  advantage  over  the  approaching 
canoe-men,  for  the  lantern,  suspended  through  the 
barbed  wire  across  the  rail  and  well  down,  would 
clearly  illuminate  the  occupants  of  the  canoe  while 
he  was  left  in  semi-darkness  and  shadow. 

"  Washee-washee !  "  he  urged  peremptorily, 
while  those  in  the  invisible  canoe  still  hesitated. 

Came  the  sound  of  paddles,  and,  next,  emerg 
ing  into  the  lantern's  area  of  light,  the  high,  black 
bow  of  a  war  canoe,  curved  like  a  gondola,  in 
laid  with  silvery-glistening  mother-of-pearl;  the 
long  lean  length  of  the  canoe  which  was  without 
outrigger;  the  shining  eyes  and  the  black-shining 
bodies  of  the  stark  blacks  who  knelt  in  the  bottom 
and  paddled;  Ishikola,  the  old  chief,  squatting 
amidships  and  not  paddling,  an  unlighted.  empty- 
bowled,  short-stemmed  clay  pipe  upside-down  be 
tween  his  toothless  gums;  and,  in  the  Stern,  as 
coxswain,  the  dandy,  all  nakedness  of  blackness, 
all  whiteness  of  decoration,  save  for  the  pig's  tail 
in  one  ear  and  the  scarlet  hibiscus  that  still  flamed 
over  the  other  ear. 

Less  than  ten  blacks  had  been  known  to  rush 
a  blackbirder  officered  by  no  more  than  two  white 
men,  and  Van  Horn's  hand  closed  on  the  butt  of 
his  automatic,  although  he  did  not  pull  it  clear  of 
the  holster,  and  although,  with  his  left  hand,  he 


i34  JERRY 

directed  the  cigar  to  his  mouth  and  pirtfed  it  lively 
alight. 

"  Hello,  Ishikola,  you  blooming  old  blighter," 
was  Van  Horn's  greeting  to  the  old  chief,  as  the 
dandy,  with  a  pry  of  his  steering  paddle  against 
the  side  of  the  canoe  and  part  under  its  bottom, 
brought  the  dug-out  broadside-on  to  the  Arangi 
so  that  the  sides  of  both  crafts  touched. 

Ishikola  smiled  upward  in  the  lantern  light.  He 
smiled  with  his  right  eye,  which  was  all  he  had, 
the  left  having  been  destroyed  by  an  arrow  in  a 
youthful  jungle-skirmish. 

"  My  word!  "  he  greeted  back.  "  Long  time 
you  no  stop  eye  belong  me." 

Van  Horn  joked  him  in  understandable  terms 
about  the  latest  wives  he  had  added  to  his  harem 
and  what  price  he  had  paid  for  them  in  pigs. 

"  My  word,"  he  concluded,  "  you  rich  fella  too 
much  altogether." 

"  Me  like'm  come  on  board  gammon  along 
you,"  Ishikola  meekly  suggested. 

"  My  word,  night  he  stop,"  the  captain  ob 
jected,  then  added,  as  a  concession  against  the 
known  rule  that  visitors  were  not  permitted  aboard 
after  nightfall:  "  You  come  on  board,  boy 
stop'm  along  boat." 


JERRY  I3S 

Van  Horn  gallantly  helped  the  old  man  to 
clamber  to  the  rail,  straddle  the  barbed  wire,  and 
gain  the  deck.  Ishikola  was  a  dirty  old  savage. 
One  of  his  tambos  (tambo  being  beche-de-mer 
and  Melanesian  for  "  taboo")  was  that  water 
unavoidable  must  never  touch  his  skin.  He  who 
lived  by  the  salt  sea,  in  a  land  of  tropic  down 
pour,  religiously  shunned  contact  with  water.  He 
never  went  swimming  or  wading,  and  always  fled 
to  shelter  from  a  shower.  Not  that  this  was  true 
of  the  rest  of  his  tribe.  It  was  the  peculiar  tambo 
laid  upon  him  by  the  devil-devil  doctors.  Other 
tribesmen  the  devil-devil  doctors  tabooed  against 
eating  shark,  or  handling  turtle,  or  contacting 
with  crocodiles  or  the  fossil  remains  of  crocodiles, 
or  from  ever  being  smirched  by  the  profanity  of 
a  woman's  touch  or  of  a  woman's  shadow  cast 
across  the  path. 

So  Ishikola,  whose  tambo  was  water,  was 
crusted  with  the  filth  of  years.  He  was  scaled 
like  a  leper,  and,  weazen-faced  and  age-shrunken, 
hobbled  horribly  from  an  ancient  spear-thrust 
to  the  thigh  that  twisted  his  torso  droopingly  out 
of  the  vertical.  But  his  one  eye  gleamed  brightly 
and  wickedly,  and  Van  Horn  knew  that  it  ob 
served  as  much  as  did  both  his  own  eyes. 


i36  JERRY 

Van  Horn  shook  hands  with  him  —  an  honour 
he  accorded  only  chiefs  —  and  motioned  him  to 
squat  down  on  deck  on  his  hams  close  to  the  fear- 
struck  girl,  who  began  trembling  again  at  recol 
lection  of  having  once  heard  Ishikola  offer  five 
twenties  of  drinking  cocoanuts  for  the  meat  of  her 
for  a  dinner. 

Jerry  needs  must  sniff,  for  future  identification 
purposes,  this  graceless,  limping,  naked,  one-eyed 
old  man.  And,  when  he  had  sniffed  and  regis 
tered  the  particular  odour,  Jerry  must  growl  in- 
timidatingly  and  win  a  quick  eye-glance  of  ap 
proval  from  Skipper. 

"  My  word,  good  fella  kai'kai  dog,"  said  Ishi 
kola.  u  Me  give'm  half-fathom  shell  money  that 
fella  dog." 

For  a  mere  puppy  this  offer  was  generous,  be 
cause  half  a  fathom  of  shell-money,  strung  on  a 
thread  of  twisted  cocoanut  fibres,  was  equivalent 
in  cash  to  half  a  pound  in  English  currency,  to 
two  dollars  and  a  half  in  American,  or,  in  live-pig 
currency,  to  half  of  a  fair-sized  fat  pig. 

"  One  fathom  shell-money  that  fella  dog,"  Van 
Horn  countered,  in  his  heart  knowing  that  he 
would  not  sell  Jerry  for  a  hundred  fathoms,  or 
for  any  fabulous  price  from  any  black,  but  in  his 


JERRY  137 

head  offering  so  small  a  price  over  par  as  not  to 
arouse  suspicion  among  the  blacks  as  to  how  highly 
he  really  valued  the  golden-coated  son  of  Biddy 
and  Terrence. 

Ishikola  next  averred  that  the  girl  had  grown 
much  thinner,  and  that  he,  as  a  practical  judge  of 
meat,  did  not  feel  justified  this  time  in  bidding  more 
than  three  twenty-strings  of  drinking  cocoanuts. 

After  these  amenities,  the  white  master  and  the 
black  talked  of  many  things,  the  one  bluffing  with 
the  white-man's  superiority  of  intellect  and  knowl 
edge,  the  other  feeling  and  guessing,  primitive 
statesman  that  he  was,  in  an  effort  to  ascertain 
the  balance  of  human  and  political  forces  that  bore 
upon  his  Su'u  territory,  ten  miles  square,  bounded 
by  the  sea  and  by  landward  lines  of  an  inter-tribal 
warfare  that  was  older  than  the  oldest  Su'u  myth. 
Eternally,  heads  had  been  taken  and  bodies  eaten, 
now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  by  the  tem 
porarily  victorious  tribes.  The  boundaries  had 
remained  the  same.  Ishikola,  in  crude  beche-de- 
mer,  tried  to  learn  the  Solomon  Islands  general 
situation  in  relation  to  Su'u,  and  Van  Horn  was 
not  above  playing  the  unfair  diplomatic  game  as 
it  is  unfairly  played  in  the  chancellories  of  the 
world  powers. 


138  JERRY 

"  My  word,"  Van  Horn  concluded;  "  you  bad 
fella  too  much  along  this  place.  Too  many  heads 
you  fella  take;  too  much  kai-kai  long  pig  along 
you."  —  Long  pigy  meaning  barbecued  human 
flesh. 

"  What  name,  long  time  black  fella  belong  Su'u 
take'm  heads,  kai-kai  along  long  pig?  "  Ishikola 
countered. 

"  My  word,"  Van  Horn  came  back,  "  too  much 
along  this  place.  Bime  by,  close  up,  big  fella  war 
ship  stop'm  along  Su'u,  knock  seven  bells  outa 
Su'u." 

"  What  name  him  big  fella  warship  stop'm 
along  Solomons?"  Ishikola  demanded. 

"  Big  fella  Cambrian,  him  fella  name  belong 
ship,"  Van  Horn  lied,  too  well  aware  that  no 
British  cruiser  had  been  in  the  Solomons  for  the 
past  two  years. 

The  conversation  was  becoming  rather  a  far 
cical  dissertation  upon  the  relations  that  should 
obtain  between  states,  irrespective  of  size,  when 
it  was  broken  off  by  a  cry  from  Tambi,  who,  with 
another  lantern  hanging  overside  at  the  end  of 
his  arm,  had  made  a  discovery. 

"  Skipper,  gun  he  stop  along  canoe !  "  was  his 
cry. 

Van  Horn,  with  a  leap,  was  at  the  rail  and 


JERRY  139 

peering  down  over  the  barbed  wire.  Ishikola,  de 
spite  his  twisted  body,  was  only  seconds  behind 
him. 

"  What  name  that  fella  gun  stop'm  along  bot 
tom?  "  Van  Horn  indignantly  demanded. 

The  dandy,  in  the  stern,  with  a  careless  look 
upward,  tried  with  his  foot  to  shove  over  the 
green  leaves  so  as  to  cover  the  out-jutting  butts 
of  several  rifles,  but  made  the  matter  worse  by 
exposing  them  more  fully.  He  bent  to  rake  the 
leaves  over  with  his  hand,  but  sat  swiftly  upright 
when  Van  Horn  roared  at  him : 

u  Stand  clear!  Keep'm  fella  hand  belong  you 
long  way  big  bit!  " 

Van  Horn  turned  on  Ishikola  and  simulated 
wrath  which  he  did  not  feel  against  the  ancient 
and  ever-recurrent  trick. 

"  What  name  you  come  alongside,  gun  he  stop 
along  canoe  beyong  you?"  he  demanded. 

The  old  salt-water  chief  rolled  his  one  eye  and 
blinked  a  fair  simulation  of  stupidity  and  inno 
cence. 

"  My  word,  me  cross  along  you  too  much," 
Van  Horn  continued.  "  Ishikola,  you  plenty  bad 
fella  boy.  You  get'm  to  hell  overside." 

The  old  fellow  limped  across  the  deck  with 
more  agility  than  he  had  displayed  coming  aboard, 


140  JERRY 

straddled  the  barbed  wire  without  assistance,  and 
without  assistance  dropped  into  the  canoe,  clev 
erly  receiving  his  weight  on  his  uninjured  leg.  He 
blinked  up  for  forgiveness  and  in  reassertion  of 
innocence.  Van  Horn  turned  his  face  aside  to 
hide  a  grin,  and  then  grinned  outright  when  the 
old  rascal,  showing  his  empty  pipe,  wheedled  up : 

"  Suppose'm  five  stick  tobacco  you  give'm  along 
me?" 

While  Borckman  went  below  for  the  tobacco, 
Van  Horn  orated  to  Ishikola  on  the  sacred  sol 
emnity  of  truth  and  promises.  Next,  he  leaned 
across  the  barbed  wire  and  handed  down  the  five 
sticks  of  tobacco. 

"  My  word,"  he  threatened.  "  Some  day,  Ishi 
kola,  I  finish  along  you  altogether.  You  no  good 
friend  stop  along  salt-water.  You  big  fool  stop 
along  bush." 

When  Ishikola  attempted  protest,  he  shut  him 
off  with,  "  My  word,  you  gammon  along  me  too 
much." 

Still  the  canoe  lingered.  The  dandy's  toe 
strayed  privily  to  feel  out  the  butts  of  the  Snider's 
under  the  green  leaves,  and  Ishikola  was  loth  to 
depart. 

'  Washee-washee !  "  Van  Horn  cried  with  im 
perative  suddenness. 


JERRY  141 

The  paddlers,  without  command  from  chief  or 
dandy,  involuntarily  obeyed,  and  with  deep,  strong 
strokes  sent  the  canoe  into  the  encircling  dark 
ness.  Just  as  quickly  Van  Horn  changed  his  po 
sition  on  deck  to  the  tune  of  a  dozen  yards,  so 
that  no  hazarded  bullet  might  reach  him.  He 
crouched  low  and  listened  to  the  wash  of  paddles 
fade  away  in  the  distance. 

"  All  right,  you  fella  Tambi,"  he  ordered 
quietly.  "  Make'm  music  him  fella  walk  about." 

And  while  "  Red  Wing  "  screeched  its  cheap 
rhythm,  he  reclined  elbow  on  deck,  smoked  his 
cigar,  and  gathered  Jerry  into  caressing  inclosure. 

As  he  smoked  he  watched  the  abrupt  misting 
of  the  stars  by  a  rain-squall  that  made  to  wind 
ward  or  to  where  windward  might  vaguely  be 
configured.  While  he  gauged  the  minutes  ere  he 
must  order  Tambi  below  with  the  phonograph  and 
records,  he  noted  the  bush-girl  gazing  at  him  in 
dumb  fear.  He  nodded  consent  with  half-closed 
eyes  and  up-tilting  face,  clinching  his  consent  with 
a  wave  of  hand  toward  the  companionway.  She 
obeyed  as  a  beaten  dog,  spirit-broken,  might  have 
obeyed,  dragging  herself  to  her  feet,  trembling 
afresh,  and  with  backward  glances  of  her  per 
petual  terror  of  the  big  white  master  that  she 
was  convinced  would  some  day  eat  her.  In  such 


142  JERRY 

fashion,  stabbing  Van  Horn  to  the  heart  because 
of  his  inability  to  convey  his  kindness  to  her  across 
the  abyss  of  the  ages  that  separated  them,  she 
slunk  away  to  the  companionway  and  crawled 
down  it  feet-first  like  some  enormous,  large- 
headed  worm. 

After  he  had  sent  Tambi  to  follow  her  with  the 
precious  phonograph,  Van  Horn  continued  to 
smoke  on  while  the  sharp,  needle-like  spray  of 
the  rain  impacted  soothingly  on  his  heated  body. 

Only  for  five  minutes  did  the  rain  descend. 
Then,  as  the  stars  drifted  back  in  the  sky,  the 
smell  of  steam  seemed  to  stench  forth  from  deck 
and  mangrove  swamp,  and  the  suffocating  heat 
wrapped  all  about. 

Van  Horn  knew  better,  but  ill  health,  save  for 
fever,  had  never  concerned  him;  so  he  did  not 
bother  for  a  blanket  to  shelter  him. 

"  Yours  the  first  watch,"  he  told  Borckman. 
"  I'll  have  her  under  way  in  the  morning  before  I 
call  you." 

He  tucked  his  head  on  the  biceps  of  his  right 
arm,  with  the  hollow  of  the  left  snuggling  Jerry 
in  against  his  chest,  and  fell  asleep. 

Thus  adventuring  white  men  and  indigenous 
black  men  from  day  to  day  lived  life  in  the  Solo- 


JERRY  143 

mons,  bickering  and  trafficking,  the  whites  striv 
ing  to  maintain  their  heads  on  their  shoulders,  the 
blacks  striving,  no  less  single-heartedly,  to  re 
move  the  whites'  heads  from  their  shoulders  and 
at  the  same  time  to  keep  their  own  anatomies  in 
tact. 

And  Jerry,  who  knew  only  the  world  of  Me- 
ringe  Lagoon,  learning  that  these  new  worlds  of 
the  ship  Arangi  and  of  the  island  of  Malaita  were 
essentially  the  same,  regarded  the  perpetual  game 
between  the  white  and  the  black  with  some  slight 
sort  of  understanding. 


CHAPTER  X 

DAYLIGHT  saw  the  Arang'i  under  way,  her 
sails  drooping  heavily  in  the  dead  air  while 
the  boat's  crew  toiled  at  the  oars  of  the  whale- 
boat  to  tow  her  out  through  the  narrow  entrance. 
Once,  when  the  ketch,  swerved  by  some  vagrant 
current,  came  close  to  the  break  of  the  shore-surf, 
the  blacks  on  board  drew  toward  one  another  in 
apprehension  akin  to  that  of  startled  sheep  in  a 
fold  when  a  wild  woods  marauder  howls  outside. 
Nor  was  there  any  need  for  Van  Horn's  shout 
to  the  whaleboat:  "  Washee-washee!  Damn 
your  hides !  "  The  boat's  crew  lifted  themselves 
clear  of  the  thwarts  as  they  threw  all  their  weight 
into  each  stroke.  They  knew  what  dire  fate  was 
certain  if  ever  the  sea-washed  coral  rock  gripped 
the  Arangi's  keel.  And  they  knew  fear  precisely 
of  the  same  sort  as  that  of  -the  fear-struck  girl 
below  in  the  lazarette.  In  the  past  more  than 
one  Langa  Langa  and  Somo  boy  had  gone  to 
make  a  Su'u  feast  day,  just  as  Su'u  boys,  on  occa 
sion,  had  similarly  served  feasts  at  Langa  Langa 
and  at  Somo. 

144 


JERRY  145 

"  My  word,"  Tambi,  at  the  wheel,  addressed 
Van  Horn  as  the  period  of  tension  passed  and  the 
Arangi  went  clear.  u  Brother  belong  my  father, 
long  time  before  he  come  boat's  crew  along  this 
place.  Big  fella  schooner  brother  belong  my 
father  he  come  along.  All  finish  this  place  Su'u. 
Brother  belong  my  father  Su'u  boys  kai-kai  along 
him  altogether." 

Van  Horn  recollected  the  Fair  Hathaway  of 
fifteen  years  before,  looted  and  burned  by  the 
people  of  Su'u  after  all  hands  had  been  killed. 
Truly,  the  Solomons  at  the  beginning  of  the  twen 
tieth  century  were  savages,  and  truly,  of  the  Solo 
mons,  this  great  island  of  Malaita  was  savagest 
of  all. 

He  cast  his  eyes  speculatively  up  the  slopes  of 
the  island  to  the  seaman's  landmark,  Mt.  Kolorat, 
green-forested  to  its  cloud-capped  summit  four 
thousand  feet  in  the  air.  Even  as  he  looked, 
thin  smoke-columns  were  rising  along  the  slopes 
and  lesser  peaks,  and  more  were  beginning  to 
rise. 

"  My  word,"  Tambi  grinned.  "  Plenty  boy 
stop'm  bush  lookout  along  you  eye  belong  him." 

Van  Horn  smiled  understandingly.  He  knew, 
by  the  ancient  telegraphy  of  smoke-signalling,  the 
message  was  being  conveyed  from  village  to  vil- 


i46  JERRY 

lage  and  tribe  to  tribe  that  a  labour  recruiter  was 
on  the  leeward  coast. 

All  morning,  under  a  brisk  beam  wind  which 
had  sprung  up  with  the  rising  of  the  sun,  the 
Arangi  flew  north,  her  course  continuously  adver 
tised  by  the  increasing  smoke-talk  that  gossiped 
along  the  green  summits.  At  high  noon,  with 
Van  Horn,  ever-attended  by  Jerry,  standing  for- 
'ard  and  conning,  the  Arangi  headed  into  wind 
to  thread  the  passage  between  two  palm-tufted 
islets.  There  was  need  for  conning.  Coral 
patches  uprose  everywhere  from  the  turquoise 
depths,  running  the  gamut  of  green  from  deepest 
jade  to  palest  tourmaline,  over  which  the  sea 
filtered  changing  shades,  creamed  lazily,  or  burst 
into  white  fountains  of  sunflashed  spray. 

The  smoke  columns  along  the  heights  became 
garrulous,  and  long  before  the  Arangi  was 
through  the  passage  the  entire  leeward  coast, 
from  the  salt-water  men  of  the  shore  to  the  re 
motest  bush  villagers,  knew  that  the  labour  re 
cruiter  was  going  in  to  Langa  Langa.  As  the 
lagoon,  formed  by  the  chain  of  islets  lying  off 
shore,  opened  out,  Jerry  began  to  smell  the  reef- 
villages.  Canoes,  many  canoes,  urged  by  pad- 
dlers  or  sailed  before  the  wind  by  the  weight  of 
the  freshening  South  East  trade  on  spread  fronds 


JERRY  147 

of  cocoanut  palms,  moved  across  the  smooth  sur 
face  of  the  lagoon.  Jerry  barked  intimidatingly 
at  those  that  came  closest,  bristling  his  neck  and 
making  a  ferocious  simulation  of  an  efficient  pro 
tector  of  the  white  god  who  stood  beside  him. 
And  after  each  such'warning,  he  would  softly  dab 
his  cool  damp  muzzle  against  the  sun-heated  skin 
of  Skipper's  leg. 

Once  inside  the  lagoon,  the  Arangi  filled  away 
with  the  wind  a-beam.  At  the  end  of  a  swift 
half-mile  she  rounded  to,  with  head-sails  trim 
ming  down  and  with  a  great  flapping  of  main  and 
mizzen,  and  dropped  anchor  in  fifty  feet  of  water 
so  clear  that  every  huge  fluted  clamshell  was  visi 
ble  on  the  coral  floor.  The  whaleboat  was  not 
necessary  to  put  the  Langa  Langa  return  boys 
ashore.  Hundreds  of  canoes  lay  twenty  deep 
along  both  sides  of  the  Arangi,  and  each  boy,  with 
his  box  and  bell,  was  clamoured  for  by  the  score  of 
relatives  and  friends. 

In  such  height  of  excitement,  Van  Horn  per 
mitted  no  one  on  board.  Melanesians,  unlike 
cattle,  are  as  prone  to  stampede  to  attack  as  to 
retreat.  Two  of  the  boat's  crew  stood  beside 
the  Lee-Enfields  on  the  skylight.  Borckman, 
with  half  the  boat's  crew,  went  about  the  ship's 
work.  Van  Horn,  Jerry  at  his  heels,  careful  that 


148  JERRY 

no  one  should  get  at  his  back,  superintended  the 
departure  of  the  Langa  Langa  returns  and  kept 
a  vigilant  eye  on  the  remaining  half  of  the  boat's 
crew  that  guarded  the  barbed-wire  rails.  And 
each  Somo  boy  sat  on  his  trade  box  to  prevent  it 
from  being  tossed  into  the  waiting  canoes  by  some 
Langa  Langa  boy. 

In  half  an  hour  the  riot  departed  ashore.  Only 
several  canoes  lingered,  and  from  one  of  these 
Van  Horn  beckoned  aboard  Nau-hau,  the  biggest 
chief  of  the  stronghold  of  Langa  Langa.  Unlike 
most  of  the  big  chiefs,  Nau-hau  was  young,  and, 
unlike  most  of  the  Melanesians,  he  was  handsome, 
even  beautiful. 

"  Hello,  King  o'  Babylon,"  was  Van  Horn's 
greeting,  for  so  he  had  named  him  because  of 
fancied  Semitic  resemblance  blended  with  the 
crude  power  that  marked  his  visage  and  informed 
his  bearing. 

Born  and  trained  to  nakedness,  Nau-hau  trod 
the  deck  boldly  and  unashamed.  His  sole  gear 
of  clothing  was  a  length  of  trunk  strap  buckled 
about  his  waist.  Between  this  and  his  bare  skin 
was  thrust  the  naked  blade  of  a  ten-inch  ripping 
knife.  His  sole  decoration  was  a  white  China 
soup-plate,  perforated  and  strung  on  cocoanut 
sennit,  suspended  from  about  his  neck  so  that  it 


JERRY  149 

rested  flat  on  his  chest  and  half-concealed  the  gen 
erous  swell  of  muscles.  It  was  the  greatest  of 
treasures.  No  man  of  Malaita  he  had  ever  heard 
of  possessed  an  unbroken  soup-plate. 

Nor  was  he  any  more  ridiculous  because  of  the 
soup-plate  than  was  he  ludicrous  because  of  his 
nakedness.  He  was  royal.  His  father  had  been 
a  king  before  him,  and  he  had  proved  himself 
greater  than  his  father.  Life  and  death  he  bore 
in  his  hands  and  head.  Often  he  had  exercised 
it,  chirping  to  his  subjects  in  the  tongue  of  Langa 
Langa :  "  Slay  here,"  and  "  Slay  there  " ;  Thou 
shalt  die,"  and  "  Thou  shalt  live."  Because  his 
father,  a  year  abdicated,  had  chosen  foolishly  to 
interfere  with  his  son's  government,  he  had  called 
two  boys  and  had  them  twist  a  cord  of  cocoanut 
around  his  father's  neck  so  that  thereafter  he 
never  breathed  again.  Because  his  favourite 
wife,  mother  of  his  eldest  born,  had  dared  out  of 
silliness  of  affection  to  violate  one  of  his  kingly 
tambos,  he  had  had  her  killed  and  had  himself 
selfishly  and  religiously  eaten  the  last  of  her  even 
to  the  marrow  of  her  cracked  joints,  sharing  no 
morsel  with  his  boonest  of  comrades. 

Royal  he  was,  by  nature,  by  training,  by  deed. 
He  carried  himself  with  consciousness  of  royalty. 
He  looked  royal  —  as  a  magnificent  stallion  may 


150  JERRY 

look  royal,  as  a  lion  on  a  painted  tawny  desert 
may  look  royal.  He  was  as  splendid  a  brute  — 
an  adumbration  of  the  splendid  human  conquerors 
and  rulers,  higher  on  the  ladder  of  evolution,  who 
have  appeared  in  other  times  and  places.  His 
pose  of  body,  of  chest,  of  shoulders,  of  head,  was 
royal.  Royal  was  the  heavy-lidded,  lazy,  inso 
lent  way  he  looked  out  of  his  eyes. 

Royal  in  courage  was  he,  this  moment  on  the 
Arangi,  despite  the  fact  that  he  knew  he  walked 
on  dynamite.  As  he  had  long  since  bitterly 
learned,  any  white  man  was  as  much  dynamite 
as  was  the  mysterious  death-dealing  missile  he 
sometimes  employed.  When  a  stripling,  he  had 
made  one  of  the  canoe  force  that  attacked  the 
sandalwood  cutter  that  had  been  even  smaller  than 
the  Arangi.  He  had  never  fogotten  that  mys 
tery.  Two  of  the  three  white  men  he  had  seen 
slain  and  their  heads  removed  on  deck.  The  third, 
still  fighting,  had  but  the  minute  before  fled  be 
low.  Then  the  cutter,  along  with  all  her  wealth 
of  hoop-iron,  tobacco,  knives  and  calico,  had  gone 
up  into  the  air  and  fallen  back  into  the  sea  in 
scattered  and  fragmented  nothingness.  It  had 
been  dynamite  —  the  MYSTERY.  And  he,  who 
had  been  hurled  uninjured  through  the  air  by  a 
miracle  of  fortune,  had  divined  that  white  men 


JERRY  151 

in  themselves  were  truly  dynamite,  compounded 
of  the  same  mystery  as  the  substance  with  which 
they  shot  the  swift-darting  schools  of  mullet,  or 
blew  up,  in  extremity,  themselves  and  the  ships 
on  which  they  voyaged  the  sea  from  far  places. 
And  yet  on  this  unstable  and  death-terrific  sub 
stance  of  which  he  was  well  aware  Van  Horn  was 
composed,  he  trod  heavily  with  his  personality, 
daring,  to  the  verge  of  detonation,  to  impact  it 
with  his  insolence. 

"  My  word,"  he  began,  "  what  name  you 
make'm  boy  belong  me  stop  along  you  too  much  ?  " 
—  Which  was  a  true  and  correct  charge  that  the 
boys  which  Van  Horn  had  just  returned  had  been 
away  three  years  and  a  half  instead  of  three  years. 

"  You  talk  that  fella  talk  I  get  cross  too  much 
along  you,"  Van  Horn  bristled  back,  and  then 
added,  diplomatically,  dipping  into  a  half-case  of 
tobacco  sawed  across  and  proffering  a  handful  of 
stick  tobacco:  "Much  better  you  smoke'm  up 
and  talk'm  good  fella  talk." 

But  Nau-hau  grandly  waved  aside  the  gift  for 
which  he  hungered. 

"  Plenty  tobacco  stop  along  me,"  he  lied. 
'  What  name  one  fella  boy  go  way  no  come 
back?"  he  demanded. 

Van  Horn  pulled  the  long  slender  account  book 


152  JERRY 

out  of  the  twist  of  his  loin-cloth,  and,  while  he 
skimmed  its  pages,  impressed  Nau-hau  with  the 
dynamite  of  the  white  man's  superior  powers 
which  enabled  him  to  remember  correctly  inside 
the  scrawled  sheets  of  a  book  instead  of  inside 
his  head. 

"  Sati,"  Van  Horn  read,  his  finger  marking  the 
place,  his  eyes  alternating  watchfully  between  the 
writing  and  the  black  chief  before  him,  while  the 
black  chief  himself  speculated  and  studied  the 
chance  of  getting  behind  him  and,  with  the  single 
knife-thrust  he  knew  so  well,  of  severing  the 
other's  spinal  cord  at  the  base  of  the  neck. 

"  Sati,"  Van  Horn  read.  "  Last  monsoon  be 
gin  about  this  time,  him  fella  Sati  get'm  sick  belly 
belong  him  too  much;  bime  by  him  fella  Sati  finish 
altogether,"  he  translated  into  beche-de-mer  the 
written  information :  Died  of  dystenery  July  ^tht 
1901. 

"  Plenty  work  him  fella  Sati,  long  time,"  Nau- 
hau  drove  to  the  point.  4  What  come  along 
money  belong  him?  " 

Van  Horn  did  mental  arithmetic  from  the  ac 
count. 

"  Altogether  him  make'm  six  tens  pounds  and 
two  fella  pounds  gold  money,"  was  the  transla 
tion  of  sixty-two  pounds  of  wages.  **  I  pay  ad- 


JERRY  153 

vance  father  belong  him  two  tens  pounds  and  five 
fella  pounds.  Him  finish  altogether  four  tens 
pounds  and  seven  fella  pounds." 

"  What  name  stop  four  tens  pounds  and  seven 
fella  pounds?"  Nau-hau  demanded,  his  tongue, 
but  not  his  brain,  encompassing  so  prodigious  a 
sum. 

Van  Horn  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Too  much  hurry  you  fella  Nau-hau.  Him 
fella  Sati  buy'm  slop  chest  along  plantation  two 
tens  pounds  and  one  fella  pound.  Belong  Sati 
he  finish  altogether  two  tens  pounds  and  six  fella 
pounds." 

'  What  name  stop  two  tens  pounds  and  six  fella 
pounds?  "  Nau-hau  continued  inflexibly. 

u  Stop'm  along  me,"  the  captain  answered 
curtly. 

"  Give'm  me  two  tens  pounds  and  six  fella 
pounds." 

"  Give'm  you  hell,"  Van  Horn  refused,  and  in 
the  blue  of  his  eyes  the  black  chief  sensed  the 
impression  of  the  dynamite  out  of  which  white 
men  seemed  made,  and  felt  his  brain  quicken  to 
the  vision  of  the  bloody  day  he  first  encountered 
an  explosion  of  dynamite  and  was  hurled  through 
the  air. 

"  What  name  that  old  fella  boy  stop'm  along 


154  JERRY 

canoe?  "  Van  Horn  asked,  pointing  to  an  old  man 
in  a  canoe  alongside.  "  Him  father  belong 
Sati?" 

u  Him  father  belong  Sati,"  Nau-hau  affirmed. 

Van  Horn  motioned  the  old  man  in  and  on 
board,  beckoned  Borckman  to  take  charge  of  the 
deck  and  of  Nau-hau,  and  went  below  to  get  the 
money  from  his  strong  box.  When  he  returned, 
cavalierly  ignoring  the  chief,  he  addressed  him 
self  to  the  old  man. 

"  What  name  belong  you?  " 

u  Me  fella  Nino,"  was  the  quavering  response. 
"  Him  fella  Sati  belong  along  me." 

Van  Horn  glanced  for  verification  to  Nau-hau, 
who  nodded  affirmation  in  the  reverse  Solomon 
way;  whereupon  Van  Horn  counted  twenty-six 
gold  sovereigns  into  the  hand  of  Sati's  father. 

Immediately  thereafter  Nau-hau  extended  his 
hand  and  received  the  sum.  Twenty  gold  pieces 
the  chief  retained  for  himself,  returning  to  the 
old  man  the  remaining  six.  It  was  no  quarrel  of 
Van  Horn's.  He  had  fulfilled  his  duty  and  paid 
properly.  The  tyranny  of  a  chief  over  a  subject 
was  none  of  his  business. 

Both  masters,  white  and  black,  were  fairly  con 
tented  with  themselves.  Van  Horn  had  paid  the 
money  where  it  was  due;  Nau-hau,  by  virtue  of 


JERRY  155 

kingship,  had  robbed  Sati's  father  of  Sati's  labour 
before  Van  Horn's  eyes.  But  Nau-hau  was  not 
above  strutting.  He  declined  a  proffered  pres 
ent  of  tobacco,  bought  a  case  of  stick  tobacco  from 
Van  Horn,  paying  him  five  pounds  for  it,  and  in 
sisted  on  having  it  sawed  open  so  that  he  could 
fill  his  pipe. 

"  Plenty  good  boy  stop  along  Langa  Langa?  " 
Van  Horn,  unperturbed,  politely  queried,  in  order 
to  make  conversation  and  advertise  nonchalance. 

The  King  o'  Babylon  grinned  but  did  not  deign 
to  reply. 

"Maybe  I  go  ashore  and  walk  about?"  Van 
Horn  challenged  with  tentative  emphasis. 

"  Maybe  too  much  trouble  along  you,"  Nau- 
hau  challenged  back.  "  Maybe  plenty  bad  fella 
boy  kai-kai  along  you." 

Although  Van  Horn  did  know  it,  at  this  chal 
lenge  he  experienced  the  hair-pricking  sensations 
in  his  scalp  that  Jerry  experienced  when  he  bris 
tled  his  back. 

"  Hey,  Borckman,"  he  called.  "  Man  the 
whaleboat." 

When  the  whaleboat  was  alongside,  he  de 
scended  into  it  first,  superiorly,  then  invited  Nau- 
hau  to  accompany  him. 

"  My  word,  King  o'  Babylon,"  he  muttered  in 


156  JERRY 

the  chief's  ears  as  the  boat's  crew  bent  to  the 
oars,  "  one  fella  boy  make'm  trouble,  I  shoot'm 
hell  outa  you  first  thing.  Next  thing  I  shoot'm 
hell  outa  Langa  Langa.  All  the  time  you  me 
fella  walk  about,  you  walk  about  along  me.  You 
no  like  walk  about  along  me,  you  finish  close  up 
altogether." 

And  ashore,  a  white  man  alone,  attended  by 
an  Irish  terrier  puppy  with  a  heart  flooded  with 
love  and  by  a  black  king  resentfully  respectful  of 
the  dynamite  of  the  white  man,  Van  Horn  went, 
swashbuckling  bare-legged  through  a  stronghold 
of  three  thousand  souls,  while  his  white  mate, 
addicted  to  schnapps,  held  the  deck  of  the  tiny 
craft  at  anchor  off  shore,  and  while  his  black 
boat's  crew,  oars  in  hands,  held  the  whaleboat 
stern-on  to  the  beach  to  receive  the  expected  fly 
ing  leap  of  the  man  they  served  but  did  not  love 
and  whose  head  they  would  eagerly  take  any  time 
were  it  not  for  fear  of  him. 

Van  Horn  had  had  no  intention  of  going 
ashore,  and  that  he  went  ashore  at  the  black 
chief's  insolent  challenge  was  merely  a  matter  of 
business.  For  an  hour  he  strolled  about,  his  right 
hand  never  far  from  the  butt  of  the  automatic 
that  lay  along  his  groin,  his  eyes  never  too  far 
from  the  unwilling  Nau-hau  beside  him.  For 


JERRY  157 

Nau-hau,  in  sullen  volcanic  rage,  was  ripe  to  erupt 
at  the  slightest  opportunity.  And,  so  strolling, 
Van  Horn  was  given  to  see  what  few  white  men 
have  seen,  for  Langa  Langa  and  her  sister  islets, 
beautiful  beads  strung  along  the  lee  coast  of  Ma- 
laita,  were  as  unique  as  they  were  unexplored. 

Originally  these  islets  had  been  mere  sand 
banks  and  coral  reefs  awash  in  the  sea  or  shal- 
lowly  covered  by  the  sea.  Only  a  hunted, 
wretched  creature,  enduring  incredible  hardship, 
could  have  eked  out  a  miserable  existence  upon 
them.  But  such  hunted,  wretched  creatures,  sur 
vivors  of  village  massacres,  escapes  from  the 
wrath  of  chiefs  and  from  the  long-pig  fate  of  the 
cooking  pot,  did  come,  and  did  endure.  They, 
who  knew  only  the  bush,  learned  the  salt  water 
and  developed  the  salt-water-man  breed.  They 
learned  the  ways  of  the  fish  and  the  shell-fish,  and 
they  invented  hooks  and  lines,  nets  and  fish-traps, 
and  all  the  diverse  cunning  ways  by  which  swim 
ming  meat  can  be  garnered  from  the  shifting,  un 
stable  sea. 

Such  refugees  stole  women  from  the  mainland, 
and  increased  and  multiplied.  With  herculean  la 
bour,  under  the  burning  sun,  they  conquered  the 
sea.  They  walled  the  confines  of  their  coral  reefs 
and  sandbanks  with  coral-rock  stolen  from  the 


158  JERRY 

mainland  of  dark  nights.  Fine  masonry,  without 
mortar  or  cutting  chisel,  they  builded  to  with 
stand  the  ocean  surge.  Likewise  stolen  from  the 
mainland,  as  mice  steal  from  human  habitations 
when  humans  sleep,  they  stole  canoe-loads,  and 
millions  of  canoe-loads,  of  fat,  rich  soil. 

Generations  and  centuries  passed,  and,  behold, 
in  place  of  naked  sandbanks  half  awash,  were 
walled  citadels,  perforated  with  launching-ways 
for  the  long  canoes,  protected  against  the  main 
land  by  the  lagoons  that  were  to  them  their  nar 
row  seas.  Cocoanut  palms,  banana  trees,  and 
lofty  breadfruit  trees  gave  food  and  sun-shelter. 
Their  gardens  prospered.  Their  long,  lean  war- 
canoes  ravaged  the  coasts  and  visited  vengeance 
for  their  forefathers  upon  the  descendants  of 
them  that  had  persecuted  and  desired  to  eat. 

Like  the  refugees  and  renegades  who  slunk 
away  in  the  salt  marshes  of  the  Adriatic  and 
builded  the  palaces  of  powerful  Venice  on  her 
deep-sunk  piles,  so  these  wretched  hunted  blacks 
builded  power  until  they  became  masters  of  the 
mainland,  controlling  traffic  and  trade-routes,  com 
pelling  the  bushman  forever  after  to  remain  in 
the  bush  and  never  to  dare  attempt  the  salt-water. 

And  here,  amidst  the  fat  success  and  insolence 
of  the  sea-people,  Van  Horn  swaggered  his  way, 


JERRY  159 

taking  his  chance,  incapable  of  believing  that  he 
might  swiftly  die,  knowing  that  he  was  building 
good  future  business  in  the  matter  of  recruiting 
labour  for  the  plantations  of  other  adventuring 
white  men  on  far  islands  who  dared  only  less 
greatly  than  he. 

And  when,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  Van  Horn 
passed  Jerry  into  the  sternsheets  of  the  whaleboat 
and  followed,  he  left  on  the  beach  a  stunned  and 
wondering  royal  black,  who,  more  than  ever  be 
fore,  was  respectful  of  the  dynamite-compounded 
white  men  who  brought  to  him  stick  tobacco,  cal 
ico,  knives  and  hatchets  and  inexorably  extracted 
from  such  trade  a  profit. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BACK  on  board,  Van  Horn  immediately  hove 
short,  hoisted  sail,  broke  out  the  anchor, 
and  filled  away  for  the  ten-mile  beat  up  the  la 
goon  to  windward  that  would  fetch  Somo.  On 
the  way,  he  stopped  at  Binu  to  greet  Chief  Johnny 
and  land  a  few  Binu  returns.  Then  it  was  on  to 
Somo,  and  to  the  end  of  voyaging  forever  of  the 
Arangi  and  of  many  that  were  aboard  of  her. 

Quite  the  opposite  to  his  treatment  at  Langa 
Langa  was  that  accorded  Van  Horn  at  Somo. 
Once  the  return  boys  were  put  ashore,  and  this 
was  accomplished  no  later  than  three-thirty  in 
the  afternoon,  he  invited  Chief  Bashti  on  board. 
And  Chief  Bashti  came,  very  nimble  and  active 
despite  his  great  age,  and  very  good-natured 
—  so  good-natured,  in  fact,  that  he  insisted  on 
bringing  three  of  his  elderly  wives  on  board  with 
him.  This  was  unprecedented.  Never  had  he 
permitted  any  of  his  wives  to  appear  before  a 
white  man,  and  Van  Horn  felt  so  honoured  that 
he  presented  each  of  them  with  a  gay  clay  pipe  and 
a  dozen  sticks  of  tobacco. 

160 


JERRY  161 

Late  as  the  afternoon  was,  trade  was  brisk,  and 
Bashti,  who  had  taken  the  lion's  share  of  the 
wages  due  to  the  fathers  of  two  boys  who  had 
died,  bought  liberally  of  the  Arangi's  stock. 
When  Bashti  promised  plenty  of  fresh  recruits, 
Van  Horn,  used  to  the  changeableness  of  the  sav 
age  mind,  urged  signing  them  up  right  away. 
Bashti  demurred,  and  suggested  next  day.  Van 
Horn  insisted  that  there  was  no  time  like  the  pres 
ent,  and  so  well  did  he  insist  that  the  old  chief  sent 
a  canoe  ashore  to  round  up  the  boys  who  had  been 
selected  to  go  away  to  the  plantations. 

"  Now  what  do  you  think?  "  Van  Horn  asked 
of  Borckman,  whose  eyes  were  remarkably  fishy. 
"  I  never  saw  the  old  rascal  so  friendly.  Has  he 
got  something  up  his  sleeve?  " 

The  mate  stared  at  the  many  canoes  alongside, 
noted  the  numbers  of  women  in  them,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  When  they're  starting  anything  they  always 
send  the  Marys  into  the  bush,"  he  said. 

"  You  never  can  tell  about  these  niggers,"  the 
captain  grumbled.  "  They  may  be  short  on  im 
agination,  but  once  in  a  while  they  do  figure  out 
something  new.  Now  Bashti's  the  smartest  old 
nigger  I've  ever  seen.  What's  to  prevent  his  fig 
uring  out  that  very  bet  and  playing  it  in  reverse? 


162  JERRY 

Just  because  theyVe  never  had  their  women 
around  when  trouble  was  on  the  carpet  is  no 
reason  that  they  will  always  keep  that  practice." 

"  Not  even  Bashti's  got  the  savvee  to  pull  a 
trick  like  that,"  Borckman  objected.  "  He's  just 
feeling  good  and  liberal.  Why,  he's  bought  forty 
pounds  of  goods  from  you  already.  That's  why 
he  wants  to  sign  on  a  new  batch  of  boys  with  us, 
and  I'll  bet  he's  hoping  half  of  them  die  so's  he 
can  have  the  spending  of  their  wages." 

All  of  which  was  most  reasonable.  Neverthe 
less,  Van  Horn  shook  his  head. 

"  All  the  same  keep  your  eyes  sharp  on  every 
thing,"  he  cautioned.  "  And  remember,  the  two 
of  us  mustn't  ever  be  below  at  the  same  time. 
And  no  more  schnapps,  mind,  until  we're  clear  of 
the  whole  kit  and  caboodle." 

Bashti  was  incredibly  lean  and  prodigiously  old. 
He  did  not  know  how  old  he  was  himself,  although 
he  did  know  that  no  person  in  his  tribe  had  been 
alive  when  he  was  a  young  boy  in  the  village.  He 
remembered  the  days  when  some  of  the  old  men, 
still  alive,  had  been  born;  and,  unlike  him,  they 
were  now  decrepit,  shaken  with  palsy,  blear-eyed, 
toothless  of  mouth,  deaf  of  ear,  or  paralysed. 
All  his  own  faculties  remained  unimpaired.  He 
even  boasted  a  dozen  worn  fangs  of  teeth,  gum- 


JERRY  163 

level,  on  which  he  could  still  chew.  Although  he 
no  longer  had  the  physical  endurance  of  youth,  his 
thinking  was  as  original  and  clear  as  it  had  always 
been.  It  was  due  to  his  thinking  that  he  found  his 
tribe  stronger  than  when  he  had  first  come  to  rule 
it.  In  his  small  way  he  had  been  a  Melanesian 
Napoleon.  As  a  warrior,  the  play  of  his  mind 
had  enabled  him  to  beat  back  the  bushmen's  bound 
aries.  The  scars  on  his  withered  body  attested 
that  he  had  fought  to  the  fore.  As  a  law-giver, 
he  had  encouraged  and  achieved  strength  and  effi 
ciency  within  his  tribe.  As  a  statesman,  he  had 
always  kept  one  thought  ahead  of  the  thoughts  of 
the  neighbouring  chiefs  in  the  making  of  treaties 
and  the  granting  of  concessions. 

And  with  his  mind,  still  keenly  alive,  he  had 
but  just  evolved  a  scheme  whereby  he  might  outwit 
Van  Horn  and  get  the  better  of  the  vast  British 
Empire  about  which  he  guessed  little  and  knew 
less. 

For  Somo  had  a  history.  It  was  that  queer 
anomaly,  a  salt-water  tribe  that  lived  on  the  la 
goon  mainland  where  only  bushmen  were  sup 
posed  to  live.  Far  back  into  the  darkness  of  time, 
the  folk-lore  of  Somo  cast  a  glimmering  light. 
On  a  day,  so  far  back  that  there  was  no  way  of 
estimating  its  distance,  one,  Somo,  son  of  Loti, 


1 64  JERRY 

who  was  the  chief  of  the  island  fortress  of  Umbo, 
had  quarrelled  with  his  father  and  fled  from  his 
wrath  along  with  a  dozen  canoe-loads  of  young 
men.  For  two  monsoons  they  had  engaged  in  an 
odyssey.  It  was  in  the  myth  that  they  circumnavi 
gated  Malaita  twice,  and  forayed  as  far  as  Ugi 
and  San  Cristobal  across  the  wide  seas. 

Women  they  had  inevitably  stolen  after  suc 
cessful  combats,  and,  in  the  end,  being  burdened 
with  women  and  progeny,  Somo  had  descended 
upon  the  mainland  shore,  driven  the  bushmen 
back,  and  established  the  salt-water  fortress  of 
Somo.  Built  it  was,  on  its  sea-front,  like  any  is 
land  fortress,  with  walled  coral-rock  to  oppose 
the  sea  and  chance  marauders  from  the  sea,  and 
with  launching  ways  through  the  walls  for  the  long 
canoes.  To  the  rear,  where  it  encroached  on  the 
jungle,  it  was  like  any  scattered  bush  village.  But 
Somo,  the  wide-seeing  father  of  the  new  tribe,  had 
established  his  boundaries  far  up  in  the  bush  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  lesser  mountains,  and  on  each 
shoulder  had  planted  a  village.  Only  the  greatly 
daring  that  fled  to  him  had  Somo  permitted  to  join 
the  new  tribe.  The  weaklings  and  cowards  they 
had  promptly  eaten,  and  the  unbelievable  tale  of 
their  many  heads  adorning  the  canoe-houses  was 
part  of  the  myth. 


JERRY  165 

And  this  tribe,  territory,  and  stronghold,  at  the 
latter  end  of  time,  Bashti  had  inherited,  and  he 
had  bettered  his  inheritance.  Nor  was  he  above 
continuing  to  better  it.  For  a  long  time  he  had 
reasoned  closely  and  carefully  in  maturing  the 
plan  that  itched  in  his  brain  for  fulfilment.  Three 
years  before,  the  tribe  of  Ano  Ano,  miles  down 
the  coast,  had  captured  a  recruiter,  destroyed  her 
and  all  hands,  and  gained  a  fabulous  store  of  to 
bacco,  calico,  beads,  and  all  manner  of  trade 
goods,  rifles  and  ammunition. 

Little  enough  had  happened  in  the  way  of  price 
that  was  paid.  Half  a  year  after,  a  war  vessel 
had  poked  her  nose  into  the  lagoon,  shelled  Ano 
Ano,  and  sent  its  inhabitants  scurrying  into  the 
bush.  The  landing  party  that  followed  had  fu- 
tilely  pursued  along  the  jungle  runways.  In  the 
end  it  had  contented  itself  with  killing  forty  fat 
pigs  and  chopping  down  a  hundred  cocoanut  trees. 
Scarcely  had  the  war  vessel  passed  out  to  open 
sea,  when  the  people  of  Ano  Ano  were  back  from 
the  bush  to  the  village.  Shell  fire  on  flimsy  grass 
houses  is  not  especially  destructive.  A  few  hours' 
labour  of  the  women  put  that  little  matter  right. 
As  for  the  forty  dead  pigs,  the  entire  tribe  fell 
upon  the  carcasses,  roasted  them  under  the 
ground  with  hot  stones,  and  feasted.  The  tender 


166  JERRY 

tips  of  the  fallen  palms  were  likewise  eaten,  while 
the  thousands  of  cocoanuts  were  husked  and  split 
and  sun-dried  and  smoke-cured  into  copra  to  be 
sold  to  the  next  passing  trader. 

Thus,  the  penalty  exacted  had  proved  a  picnic 
and  a  feast  —  all  of  which  appealed  to  the  thrifty, 
calculating  brain  of  Bashti.  And  what  was  good 
for  Ano  Ano,  in  his  judgment  was  surely  good  for 
Somo.  Since  such  were  white  men's  ways  who 
sailed  under  the  British  flag  and  killed  pigs  and 
cut  down  cocoanuts  in  cancellation  of  blood-debts 
and  head-takings,  Bashti  saw  no  valid  reason  why 
he  should  not  profit  as  Ano  Ano  had  profited. 
The  price  to  be  paid  at  some  possible  future  time 
was  absurdly  disproportionate  to  the  immediate 
wealth  to  be  gained.  Besides,  it  had  been  over 
two  years  since  the  last  British  war  vessel  had  ap 
peared  in  the  Solomons. 

And  thus,  Bashti,  with  a  fine  fresh  idea  inside 
his  head,  bowed  his  chiefs  head  in  consent  that  his 
people  could  flock  aboard  and  trade.  Very  few  of 
them  knew  what  his  idea  was  or  that  he  even  had 
an  idea. 

Trade  grew  still  brisker  as  more  canoes  came 
alongside  and  black  men  and  women  thronged  the 
deck.  Then  came  the  recruits,  new-caught, 
young,  savage  things,  timid  as  deer,  yet  yielding 


JERRY  167 

to  stern  parental  and  tribal  law  and  going  down 
into  the  Arangi's  cabin,  one  by  one,  their  fathers 
and  mothers  and  relatives  accompanying  them  in 
family  groups,  to  confront  the  big  fella  white 
marster,  who  wrote  their  names  down  in  a  mys 
terious  book,  had  them  ratify  the  three  years'  con 
tract  of  their  labour  by  a  touch  of  the  right  hand 
to  the  pen  with  which  he  wrote,  and  who  paid  the 
first  year's  advance  in  trade  goods  to  the  heads  of 
their  respective  families. 

Old  Bashti  sat  near,  taking  his  customary  heavy 
tithes  out  of  each  advance,  his  three  old  wives 
squatting  humbly  at  his  feet  and  by  their  mere 
presence  giving  confidence  to  Van  Horn,  who  was 
elated  by  the  stroke  of  business.  At  such  rate 
his  cruise  on  Malaita  would  be  a  short  one,  when 
he  would  sail  away  with  a  full  ship. 

On  deck,  where  Borckman  kept  a  sharp  eye  out 
against  danger,  Jerry  prowled  about,  sniffing  the 
many  legs  of  the  many  blacks  he  had  never  en 
countered  before.  The  wild-dog  had  gone  ashore 
with  the  return  boys,  and  of  the  return  boys  only 
one  had  come  back.  It  was  Lerumie,  past  whom 
Jerry  repeatedly  and  stiff-leggedly  bristled  with 
out  gaining  response  of  recognition.  Lerumie 
coolly  ignored  him,  went  down  below  once  and 
purchased  a  trade  hand-mirror,  and,  with  a  look 


168  JERRY 

of  the  eyes,  assured  old  Bashti  that  all  was  ready 
and  ripe  to  break  at  the  first  favourable  moment. 

On  deck,  Borckman  gave  this  favourable  mo 
ment.  Nor  would  he  have  so  given  it  had  he 
not  been  guilty  of  carelessness  and  of  disobedience 
to  his  captain's  orders.  He  did  not  leave  the 
schnapps  alone.  He  did  not  sense  what  was  im 
pending  all  about  him.  Aft,  where  he  stood,  the 
deck  was  almost  deserted.  Amidships  and  for- 
'ard,  gamming  with  the  boat's  crew,  the  deck  was 
crowded  with  blacks  of  both  sexes.  He  made  his 
way  to  the  yam  sacks  lashed  abaft  the  mizzenmast 
and  got  his  bottle.  Just  before  he  drank,  with  a 
shred  of  caution,  he  cast  a  glance  behind,  him. 
Near  him  stood  a  harmless  Mary,  middle-aged, 
fat,  squat,  asymmetrical,  unlovely,  a  sucking  child 
of  two  years  astride  her  hip  and  taking  nourish 
ment.  Surely  no  harm  was  to  be  apprehended 
there.  Furthermore,  she  was  patently  a  weapon 
less  Mary,  for  she  wore  no  stitch  of  clothing  that 
otherwise  might  have  concealed  a  weapon.  Over 
against  the  rail,  ten  feet  to  one  side,  stood  Ler- 
umie,  smirking  into  the  trade  mirror  he  had  just 
bought. 

It  was  in  the  trade  mirror  that  Lerumie  saw 
Borckman  bend  to  the  yam-sacks,  return  to  the 


JERRY  169 

erect,  throw  his  head  back,  the  mouth  of  the  bottle 
glued  to  his  lips,  the  bottom  elevated  skyward. 
Lerumie  lifted  his  right  hand  in  signal  to  a  woman 
in  a  canoe  alongside.  She  bent  swiftly  for  some 
thing  that  she  tossed  to  Lerumie.  It  was  a  long- 
handled  tomahawk,  the  head  of  it  an  ordinary 
shingler's  hatchet,  the  haft  of  it,  native-made,  a 
black  and  polished  piece  of  hard  wood,  inlaid  in 
rude  designs  with  mother-of-pearl  and  wrapped 
with  cocoanut  sennit  to  make  a  hand  grip.  The 
blade  of  the  hatchet  had  been  ground  to  razor- 
edge. 

As  the  tomahawk  flew  noiselessly  through  the 
air  to  Lerumie's  hand,  just  as  noiselessly,  the  next 
instant,  it  flew  through  the  air  from  his  hand  into 
the  hand  of  the  fat  Mary  with  the  nursing  child 
who  stood  behind  the  mate.  She  clutched  the 
handle  with  both  hands,  while  the  child,  astride 
her  hip,  held  on  to  her  with  both  small  arms  part 
way  about  her. 

Still  she  waited  the  stroke,  for  with  Borckman's 
head  thrown  back  was  no  time  to  strive  to  sever 
the  spinal  cord  at  the  neck.  Many  eyes  beheld  the 
impending  tragedy.  Jerry  saw,  but  did  not  under 
stand.  With  all  his  hostility  to  niggers  he  had 
not  divined  the  attack  from  the  air.  Tambi,  who 


JERRY 

chanced  to  be  near  the  skylight,  saw,  and,  seeing, 
reached  for  a  Lee-Enfield.  Lerumie  saw  Tambi's 
action  and  hissed  haste  to  the  Mary. 

Borckman,  as  unaware  of  this,  his  last  second 
of  life,  as  he  had  been  of  his  first  second  of  birth, 
lowered  the  bottle  and  straightened  forward  his 
head.  The  keen  edge  sank  home.  What,  in  that 
flash  of  instant  when  his  brain  was  severed  from 
the  rest  of  his  body,  Borckman  may  have  felt  or 
thought,  if  he  felt  or  thought  at  all,  is  a  mys 
tery  unsolvable  to  living  man.  No  man,  his  spinal 
cord  so  severed,  has  ever  given  one  word  or 
whisper  of  testimony  as  to  what  were  his  sensa 
tions  and  impressions.  No  less  swift  than  the 
hatchet  stroke  was  the  limp  placidity  into  which 
Borckman's  body  melted  to  the  deck.  He  did  not 
reel  or  pitch.  He  melted,  as  a  sack  of  wind  sud 
denly  emptied,  as  a  bladder  of  air  suddenly  punc 
tured.  The  bottle  fell  from  his  dead  hand  upon 
the  yams  without  breaking,  although  the  remnant 
of  its  contents  gurgled  gently  out  upon  the  deck. 

So  quick  was  the  occurrence  of  action,  that  the 
first  shot  from  Tambi's  musket  missed  the  Mary 
ere  Borckman  had  quite  melted  to  the  deck. 
There  was  no  time  for  a  second  shot,  for  the 
Mary,  dropping  the  tomahawk,  holding  her  child 
in  both  her  hands  and  plunging  to  the  rail,  was  in 


JERRY  171 

the  air  and  overboard,  her  fall  capsizing  the  canoe 
which  chanced  to  be  beneath  her. 

Scores  of  actions  were  simultaneous.  From  the 
canoes  on  both  sides  uprose  a  glittering,  glisten 
ing  rain  of  mother-of-pearl-handled  tomahawks, 
that  descended  into  the  waiting  hands  of  the  Somo 
men  on  deck,  while  the  Marys  on  deck  crouched 
down  and  scrambled  out  of  the  fray.  At  the  same 
time  that  the  Mary  who  had  killed  Borckman 
leapt  the  rail,  Lerumie  bent  for  the  tomahawk  she 
had  dropped,  and  Jerry,  aware  of  red  war,  slashed 
the  hand  that  reached  for  the  tomahawk. 
Lerumie  stood  upright  and  loosed  loudly,  in  a 
howl,  all  the  pent  rage  and  hatred  of  months  which 
he  had  cherished  against  the  puppy.  Also,  as  he 
gained  the  perpendicular  and  as  Jerry  flew  at  his 
legs,  he  launched  a  kick  with  all  his  might  that 
caught  and  lifted  Jerry  squarely  under  the  middle. 

And  in  the  next  second,  or  fraction  of  second, 
as  Jerry  lifted  and  soared  through  the  air,  over 
the  barbed  wire  of  the  rail  and  overboard,  while 
Sniders  were  being  passed  up  overside  from  the 
canoes,  Tambi  fired  his  next  hasty  shot.  And 
Lerumie,  the  foot  with  which  he  had  kicked  not 
yet  returned  to  the  deck  as  again  he  was  in  mid- 
action  of  stooping  to  pick  up  the  tomahawk,  re 
ceived  the  bullet  squarely  in  the  heart  and  pitched 


172  JERRY 

down  to  melt  with  Borckman  into  the  softness  of 
death. 

Ere  Jerry  struck  the  water,  the  glory  of  Tambi's 
marvellously  lucky  shot  was  over  for  Tambi ;  for, 
at  the  moment  he  pressed  trigger  to  the  success 
ful  shot,  a  tomahawk  bit  across  his  skull  at  the 
base  of  the  brain  and  darkened  from  his  eyes  for 
ever  the  bright  vision  of  the  sea-washed,  sun- 
blazoned  tropic  world.  As  swiftly,  all  occurring 
almost  simultaneously,  did  the  rest  of  the  boat's 
crew  pass  and  the  deck  become  a  shambles. 

It  was  to  the  reports  of  the  Sniders  and  the 
noises  of  the  death  scuffle,  that  Jerry's  head 
emerged  from  the  water.  A  man's  hand  reached 
over  a  canoe-side  and  dragged  him  in  by  the  scruff 
of  the  neck,  and,  although  he  snarled  and  strug 
gled  to  bite  his  rescuer,  he  was  not  so  much  en 
raged  as  was  he  torn  by  the  wildest  solicitude  for 
Skipper.  He  knew,  without  thinking  about  it, 
that  the  Arangi  had  been  boarded  by  the  hazily 
sensed  supreme  disaster  of  life  that  all  life  in 
tuitively  apprehends  and  that  only  man  knows  and 
calls  by  the  name  of  "  death."  Borckman  he  had 
seen  struck  down.  Lerumie  he  had  heard  struck 
down.  And  now  he  was  hearing  the  explosions 
of  rifles  and  the  yells  and  screeches  of  triumph 
and  fear. 


JERRY  173 

So  it  was,  helpless,  suspended  in  the  air  by  the 
nape  o£  the  neck,  that  he  bawled  and  squalled  and 
choked  and  coughed  till  the  black,  disgusted,  flung 
him  down  roughly  in  the  canoe's  bottom.  He 
scrambled  to  his  feet  and  made  two  leaps:  one 
upon  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe;  the  next,  despair 
ing  and  hopeless,  without  consideration  of  self, 
for  the  rail  of  the  Arangi. 

His  fore-feet  missed  the  rail  by  a  yard,  and  he 
plunged  down  into  the  sea.  He  came  up,  swim 
ming  frantically,  swallowing  and  strangling  salt 
water  because  he  stilled  yelped  and  wailed  and 
barked  his  yearning  to  be  on  board  with  Skipper. 

But  a  boy  of  twelve,  in  another  canoe,  having 
witnessed  the  first  black's  adventure  with  Jerry, 
treated  him  without  ceremony,  laying,  first  the  flat, 
and  next  the  edge,  of  a  paddle  upon  his  head  while 
he  still  swam.  And  the  darkness  of  unconscious 
ness  welled  over  his  bright  little  love-suffering 
brain,  so  that  it  was  a  limp  and  motionless  puppy 
that  the  black  boy  dragged  into  his  canoe. 

In  the  meantime,  down  below  in  the  Arangi 's 
cabin,  ere  ever  Jerry  hit  the  water  from  Lerumie's 
kick,  even  while  he  was  in  the  air,  Van  Horn,  in 
one  great  flashing  profound  fraction  of  an  instant, 
had  known  his  death.  Not  for  nothing  had  old 
Bashti  lived  longest  of  any  living  man  in  his  tribe, 


174  JERRY 

and  ruled  wisest  of  all  the  long  line  of  rulers  since 
Somo's  time.  Had  he  been  placed  more  gener 
ously  in  earth  space  and  time,  he  .might  well  have 
proved  an  Alexander,  a  Napoleon,  or  a  swarthy 
Kahehameha.  As  it  was,  he  performed  well,  and 
splendidly  well,  in  his  limited  little  kingdom  on  the 
leeward  coast  of  the  dark  cannibal  island  of  Ma- 
laita. 

And  such  a  performance !  In  cool  good  na 
ture,  in  rigid  maintenance  of  his  chiefship  rights, 
he  had  smiled  at  Van  Horn,  given  royal  permis 
sion  to  his  young  men  to  sign  on  for  three  years  of 
plantation  slavery,  and  exacted  his  share  of  each 
year's  advance.  Aroa,  who  might  be  described  as 
his  prime  minister  and  treasurer,  had  received  the 
tithes  as  fast  as  they  were  paid  over,  and  filled 
them  into  large,  fine-netted  bags  of  cocoanut  sen 
nit.  At  Bashti's  back,  squatting  on  the  bunk- 
boards,  a  slim  and  smooth-skinned  maid  of  thir 
teen  had  flapped  the  flies  away  from  his  royal  head 
with  the  royal  fly-flapper.  At  his  feet  had 
squatted  his  three  old  wives,  the  oldest  of  them, 
toothless  and  somewhat  palsied,  ever  presenting 
to  his  hand,  at  his  head  nod,  a  basket  rough-woven 
of  pandanus  leaf. 

And  Bashti,  his  keen  old  ears  pitched  for  the 
first  untoward  sound  from  on  deck,  had  con- 


JERRY  175 

tinually  nodded  his  head  and  dipped  his  hand  into 
the  proffered  basket  —  now  for  betel-nut,  and 
lime-box,  and  the  invariable  green  leaf  with  which 
to  wrap  the  mouthful;  now  for  tobacco  with  which 
to  fill  his  short  clay  pipe;  and,  again,  for  matches 
with  which  to  light  the  pipe  which  seemed  not  to 
draw  well  and  which  frequently  went  out. 

Toward  the  last  the  basket  had  hovered  con 
stantly  close  to  his  hand,  and,  at  the  last,  he  made 
one  final  dip.  It  was  at  the  moment  when  the 
Mary's  axe,  on  deck,  had  struck  Borckman  down 
and  when  Tambi  loosed  the  first  shot  at  her  from 
his  Lee-Enfield.  And  Bashti's  withered  ancient 
hand,  the  back  of  it  netted  with  a  complex  of  large 
upstanding  veins  from  which  the  flesh  had  shrunk 
away,  dipped  out  a  huge  pistol  of  such  remote 
vintage  that  one  of  Cromwell's  Roundheads  might 
well  have  carried  it  or  that  it  might  well  have 
voyaged  with  Quiros  or  La  Perouse.  It  was  a 
flint-lock,  as  long  as  a  man's  forearm,  and  it  had 
been  loaded  that  afternoon  by  no  less  a  person 
than  Bashti  himself. 

Quick  as  Bashti  had  been,  Van  Horn  was  al 
most  as  quick  but  not  quite  quick  enough.  Even 
as  his  hand  leapt  to  the  modern  automatic  lying 
out  of  its  holster  and  loose  on  his  knees,  the  pistol 
of  the  centuries  went  off.  Loaded  with  two  slugs 


176  JERRY 

and  a  round  bullet,  its  effect  was  that  of  a  sawed-off 
shotgun.  And  Van  Horn  knew  the  blaze  and  the 
black  of  death,  even  as  "  Gott  fer  dang!  "  died 
unuttered  on  his  lips  and  as  his  fingers  relaxed 
from  the  part-lifted  automatic,  dropping  it  to  the 
floor. 

Surcharged  with  black  powder,  the  ancient 
weapon  had  other  effect.  It  burst  in  BashtTs 
hand.  While  Aora,  with  a  knife  produced  ap 
parently  from  nowhere,  proceeded  to  hack  off  the 
white  master's  head,  Bashti  looked  quizzically  at 
his  right  fore-finger  dangling  by  a  strip  of  skin. 
He  seized  it  with  his  left  hand,  with  a  quick  pull 
and  twist  wrenched  it  off,  and  grinningly  tossed 
it,  as  a  joke,  into  the  pandanus  basket  which  still 
his  wife  with  one  hand  held  before  him  while  with 
the  other  she  clutched  her  forehead  bleeding  from 
a  flying  fragment  of  pistol. 

Collaterally  with  this,  three  of  the  young  re 
cruits,  joined  by  their  fathers  and  uncles,  had 
downed  and  were  finishing  off  the  only  one  of  the 
boat's  crew  that  was  below.  Bashti,  who  had 
lived  so  long  that  he  was  a  philosopher  who 
minded  pain  little  and  the  loss  of  a  finger  less, 
chuckled  and  chirped  his  satisfaction  and  pride  of 
achievement  in  the  outcome,  while  his  three  old 
wives,  who  lived  only  at  the  nod  of  his  head, 


JERRY  177 

fawned  under  him  on  the  floor  in  the  abjectness  of 
servile  congratulation  and  worship.  Long  had 
they  lived,  and  they  had  lived  long  only  by  his 
kingly  whim.  They  floundered  and  gibbered  and 
mowed  at  his  feet,  lord  of  life  and  death  that  he 
was,  infinitely  wise  as  he  had  so  often  proved  him 
self,  as  he  had  this  time  proved  himself  again. 

And  the  lean,  fear-stricken  girl,  like  a  fright 
ened  rabbit  in  the  mouth  of  its  burrow,  on  hands 
and  knees  peered  forth  upon  the  scene  from  the 
lazarette  and  knew  that  the  cooking-pot  and  the 
end  of  time  had  come  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHAT  happened  aboard  the  Arangi  Jerry 
never  knew.  He  did  know  that  it  was 
a  world  destroyed,  for  he  saw  it  destroyed.  The 
boy  who  had  knocked  him  on  the  head  with  the 
paddle,  tied  his  legs  securely  and  tossed  him  out 
on  the  beach  ere  he  forgot  him  in  the  excitement  of 
looting  the  Arangi. 

With  great  shouting  and  song,  the  pretty  teak- 
built  yacht  was  towed  in  by  the  long  canoes  and 
beached  close  to  where  Jerry  lay  just  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  coral-stone  walls.  Fires  blazed  on 
the  beach,  lanterns  were  lighted  on  board,  and, 
amid  a  great  feasting,  the  Arangi  was  gutted  and 
stripped.  Everything  portable  was  taken  ashore, 
from  her  pigs  of  iron  ballast  to  her  running  gear 
and  sails.  No  one  in  Somo  slept  that  night. 
Even  the  tiniest  of  children  toddled  about  the 
feasting  fires  or  sprawled  surfeited  on  the  sands. 
At  two  in  the  morning,  at  Bashti's  command,  the 
shell  of  the  boat  was  fired.  And  Jerry,  thirsting 
for  water,  having  whimpered  and  wailed  himself 
to  exhaustion,  lying  helpless,  leg-tied,  on  his  side, 

178 


JERRY  179 

saw  the  floating  world  he  had  known  so  short  a 
time  go  up  in  flame  and  smoke. 

And  by  the  light  of  her  burning,  old  Bashti  ap 
portioned  the  loot.  No  one  of  the  tribe  was  too 
mean  to  receive  nothing.  Even  the  wretched 
bush-slaves,  who  had  trembled  through  all  the  time 
of  their  captivity  from  fear  of  being  eaten,  re 
ceived  each  a  clay  pipe  and  several  sticks  of  to 
bacco.  The  main  bulk  of  the  trade  goods,  which 
was  not  distributed,  Bashti  had  carried  up  to  his 
own  large  grass  house.  All  the  wealth  of  gear 
was  stored  in  the  several  canoe  houses.  While  in 
the  devil  devil  houses  the  devil  devil  doctors  set  to 
work  curing  the  many  heads  over  slow  smudges; 
for,  along  with  the  boat's  crew  there  were  a  round 
dozen  of  No-ola  return  boys,  and  several  Malu 
boys  which  Van  Horn  had  not  yet  delivered. 

Not  all  these  had  been  slain,  however.  Bashti 
had  issued  stern  injunctions  against  wholesale 
slaughter.  But  this  was  not  because  his  heart 
was  kind.  Rather  was  it  because  his  head  was 
shrewd.  Slain  they  would  all  be  in  the  end. 
Bashti  had  never  seen  ice,  did  not  know  it  existed, 
and  was  unversed  in  the  science  of  refrigeration. 
The  only  way  he  knew  to  keep  meat  was  to  keep  it 
alive.  And  in  the  biggest  canoe  house,  the  club 
house  of  the  stags,  where  no  Mary  might  come 


1 8o  JERRY 

under  penalty  of  death  by  torture,  the  captives 
were  stored. 

Tied  or  trussed  like  fowls  or  pigs,  they  were 
tumbled  on  the  hard-packed  earthen  floor,  be 
neath  which,  shallowly  buried,  lay  the  remains  of 
ancient  chiefs,  while,  overhead,  in  wrappings  of 
grass  mats,  swung  all  that  was  left  of  several  of 
Bashti's  immediate  predecessors,  his  father  latest 
among  them  and  so  swinging  for  two  full  genera 
tions.  Here,  too,  since  she  was  to  be  eaten  and 
since  the  taboo  had  no  bearing  upon  one  con 
demned  to  be  cooked,  the  thin  little  Mary  from 
the  lazarette  was  tumbled  trussed  upon  the  floor 
among  the  many  blacks  who  had  teased  and 
mocked  her  for  being  fattened  by  Van  Horn  for 
the  eating. 

And  to  this  canoe  house  Jerry  was  also  brought 
to  join  the  others  on  the  floor.  Agno,  chief  of  the 
devil  devil  doctors,  had  stumbled  across  him  on 
the  beach,  and,  despite  the  protestations  of  the 
boy  who  claimed  him  as  personal  trove,  had  or 
dered  him  to  the  canoe  house.  Carried  past  the 
fires  of  the  feasting,  his  keen  nostrils  had  told  him 
of  what  the  feast  consisted.  And,  new  as  the  ex 
perience  was,  he  had  bristled  and  snarled  and 
struggled  against  his  bonds  to  be  free.  Like 
wise,  at  first,  tossed  down  in  the  canoe  house, 


JERRY  181 

he  had  bristled  and  snarled  at  his  fellow  captives, 
not  realising  their  plight,  and,  since  always  he 
had  been  trained  to  look  upon  niggers  as  the  eter 
nal  enemy,  considering  them  responsible  for  the 
catastrophe  to  the  Arangi  and  to  Skipper. 

For  Jerry  was  only  a  little  dog,  with  a  dog's 
•limitations,  and  very  young  in  the  world.  But  not 
for  long  did  he  throat  his  rage  at  them.  In  vague 
ways  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  they,  too,  were 
not  happy.  Some  had  been  cruelly  wounded,  and 
kept  up  a  moaning  and  groaning.  Without  any 
clearness  of  concept,  nevertheless  Jerry  had  a 
realisation  that  they  were  as  painfully  circum 
stanced  as  himself.  And  painful  indeed  was  his 
own  circumstance.  He  lay  on  his  side,  the  cords 
that  bound  his  legs  so  tight  as  to  bite  into  his 
tender  flesh  and  shut  off  the  circulation.  Also,  he 
was  perishing  for  water,  and  panted,  dry-tongued, 
dry-mouthed,  in  the  stagnant  heat. 

A  dolorous  place  it  was,  this  canoe  house,  filled 
with  groans  and  sighs,  corpses  beneath  the  floor 
and  composing  the  floor,  creatures  soon  to  be 
corpses  upon  the  floor,  corpses  swinging  in  aerial 
sepulture  overhead,  long  black  canoes,  high-ended 
like  beaked  predatory  monsters,  dimly  looming  in 
the  light  of  a  slow  fire  where  sat  an  ancient  of  the 
tribe  of  Somo  at  his  interminable  task  of  smoke- 


182  JERRY 

curing  a  bushman's  head.  He  was  withered,  and 
blind,  and  senile,  gibbering  and  mowing  like  some 
huge  ape  as  ever  he  turned  and  twisted,  and 
twisted  back  again,  the  suspended  head  in  the 
pungent  smoke  and  handful  by  handful  added  rot 
ten  punk  of  wood  to  the  smudge  fire. 

Sixty  feet  in  the  clear,  the  dim  fire  occasionally 
lighted,  through  shadowy  cross-beams,  the  ridge 
pole  that  was  covered  with  sennit  of  cocoanut 
braided  in  barbaric  designs  of  black  and  white 
and  stained  by  the  smoke  of  years  almost  to  a 
monochrome  of  dirty  brown.  From  the  lofty 
cross-beams,  on  long  sennit  strings,  hung  the 
heads  of  enemies  taken  aforetime  in  jungle  raid 
and  sea  foray.  The  place  breathed  the  very  at 
mosphere  of  decay  and  death,  and  the  imbecile  an 
cient,  curing  in  the  smoke  the  token  of  death,  was 
himself  palsiedly  shaking  into  the  disintegration  of 
the  grave. 

Toward  daylight,  with  great  shouting  and  heav 
ing  and  pull  and  haul,  scores  of  Somo  men  brought 
in  another  of  the  big  war  canoes.  They  made 
way  with  foot  and  hand,  kicking  and  thrusting, 
dragging  and  shoving  the  bound  captives  to  either 
side  of  the  space  which  the  canoe  was  to  occupy. 
They  were  anything  but  gentle  to  the  meat  with 


JERRY  183 

which  they  had  been  favoured  by  good  fortune  and 
the  wisdom  of  Bashti. 

For  a  time  they  sat  about,  all  pulling  at  clay 
pipes  and  chirruping  and  laughing  in  queer  thin 
falsettos  at  the  events  of  the  night  and  the  pre 
vious  afternoon.  Now  one  and  now  another 
stretched  out  and  slept  without  covering;  for  so, 
directly  under  the  path  of  the  sun,  had  they  slept 
nakedly  from  the  time  they  were  born. 

Remained  awake,  as  dawn  paled  the  dark,  only 
the  grievously  wounded  or  the  too-tightly  bound, 
and  the  decrepit  ancient  who  was  not  so  old  as 
Bashti.  When  the  boy  who  had  stunned  Jerry 
with  his  paddle-blade  and  who  claimed  him  as  his 
own,  stole  into  the  canoe  house,  the  ancient  did 
not  hear  him.  Being  blind,  he  did  not  see  him. 
He  continued,  gibbering  and  chuckling  dement- 
edly,  to  twist  the  bushman's  head  back  and  forth 
and  to  feed  the  smudge  with  punk-wood.  This 
was  no  night-task  for  any  man,  nor  even  for  him 
who  had  forgotten  how  to  do  aught  else.  But  the 
excitement  of  cutting  out  the  Arangi  had  been  com 
municated  to  his  addled  brain,  and,  with  vague 
reminiscent  flashes  of  the  strength  of  life  trium 
phant,  he  shared  deliriously  in  this  triumph  of 
Somo  by  applying  himself  to  the  curing  of  the 


i84  JERRY 

head  that  was  in  itself  the  concrete  expression  of 
triumph. 

But  the  twelve-year-old  lad  who  stole  in  and 
cautiously  stepped  over  the  sleepers  and  threaded 
his  way  among  the  captives,  did  so  with  his  heart 
in  his  mouth.  He  knew  what  taboos  he  was 
violating.  Not  old  enough  even  to  leave  his 
father's  grass  roof  and  sleep  in  the  youths'  canoe 
house,  much  less  to  sleep  with  the  young  bachelors 
in  their  canoe  house,  he  knew  that  he  took  his  life, 
with  all  of  its  dimly  guessed  mysteries  and  arro 
gances,  in  his  hand  thus  to  trespass  into  the  sacred 
precinct  of  the  full-made,  full-realised,  full-stat- 
ured  men  of  Somo. 

But  he  wanted  Jerry  and  he  got  him.  Only  the 
lean  little  Mary,  trussed  for  the  cooking,  staring 
through  her  wide  eyes  of  fear,  saw  the  boy  pick 
Jerry  up  by  his  tied  legs  and  carry  him  out  and 
away  from  the  booty  of  meat  of  which  she  was 
part.  Jerry's  heroic  little  heart  of  courage  would 
have  made  him  snarl  and  resent  such  treatment  of 
handling  had  he  not  been  too  exhausted  and  had 
not  his  mouth  and  throat  been  too  dry  for  sound. 
As  it  was,  miserably  and  helplessly,  not  half  him 
self,  a  puppet  dreamer  in  a  half-nightmare,  he 
knew,  as  a  restless  sleeper  awakening  between  vex 
ing  dreams,  that  he  was  being  transported  head- 


JERRY  185 

downward  out  of  the  canoe  house  that  stank  of 
death,  through  the  village  that  was  only  less 
noisome,  and  up  a  path  under  lofty,  wide-spread 
ing  trees  that  were  beginning  languidly  to  stir 
with  the  first  breathings  of  the  morning  wind. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  boy's  name,  as  Jerry  was  to  learn,  was 
Lamai,  and  to  Lamai's  house  Jerry  was  car 
ried.  It  was  not  much  of  a  house,  even  as 
cannibal  grass-houses  go.  On  an  earthen  floor, 
hard-packed  of  the  filth  of  years,  lived  Lamai's 
father  and  mother  and  a  spawn  of  four  younger 
brothers  and  sisters.  A  thatched  roof  that  leaked 
in  every  heavy  shower  leaned  to  a  wabbly  ridge 
pole  over  the  floor.  The  walls  were  even  more 
pervious  to  a  driving  rain.  In  fact,  the  house  of 
Lumai,  who  was  the  father  of  Lamai,  was  the 
most  miserable  house  in  all  Somo. 

Lumai,  the  house-master  and  family  head,  un 
like  most  Malaitans,  was  fat.  And  of  his  fat 
ness  it  would  seem  had  been  begotten  his  good 
nature  with  its  allied  laziness.  But  as  the  fly  in 
his  ointment  of  jovial  irresponsibility  was  his  wife, 
Lenerengo  —  the  prize  shrew  of  Somo,  who  was 
as  lean  about  the  middle  and  all  the  rest  of  her  as 
her  husband  was  rotund;  who  was  as  remarkably 
sharp-spoken  as  he  was  soft-spoken;  who  was  as 
ceaselessly  energetic  as  he  was  unceasingly  idle; 

186 


JERRY  187 

and  who  had  been  born  with  a  taste  for  the  world 
as  sour  in  her  mouth  as  it  was  sweet  in  his. 

The  boy  merely  peered  into  the  house  as  he 
passed  around  it  to  the  rear,  and  he  saw  his 
father  and  mother,  at  opposite  corners,  sleeping 
without  covering,  and,  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
his  four  naked  brothers  and  sisters  curled  together 
in  a  tangle  like  a  litter  of  puppies.  All  about  the 
house,  which  in  truth  was  scarcely  more  than  an 
animal  lair,  was  an  earthly  paradise.  The  air 
was  spicily  and  sweetly  heavy  with  the  scents  of 
wild  aromatic  plants  and  gorgeous  tropic  blooms. 
Overhead  three  breadfruit  trees  interlaced  their 
noble  branches.  Banana  and  plantain  trees  were 
burdened  with  great  bunches  of  ripening  fruit. 
And  huge,  golden  melons  of  the  papaa,  ready  for 
the  eating,  globuled  directly  from  the  slender- 
trunked  trees  not  one-tenth  the  girth  of  the  fruits 
they  bore.  And,  for  Jerry,  most  delightful  of 
all,  there  was  the  gurgle  and  plash  of  a  brooklet 
that  pursued  its  invisible  way  over  mossy  stones 
under  a  garmenture  of  tender  and  delicate  ferns. 
No  conservatory  of  a  king  could  compare  with 
this  wild  wantonness  of  sun-generous  vegetation. 

Maddened  by  the  sound  of  the  water,  Jerry  had 
first  to  endure  an  embracing  and  hugging  from  the 
boy,  who,  squatted  on  his  hams,  rocked  back  and 


i88  JERRY 

forth  and  mumbled  a  strange  little  crooning  song. 
And  Jerry,  lacking  articulate  speech,  had  no  way 
of  telling  him  of  the  thirst  of  which  he  was  perish 
ing. 

Next,  Lamai  tied  him  securely  with  a  sennit 
cord  about  the  neck  and  untied  the  cords  that  bit 
into  his  legs.  So  numb  was  Jerry  from  lack  of 
circulation,  and  so  weak  from  lack  of  water 
through  part  of  a  tropic  day  and  all  of  a  tropic 
night,  that  he  stood  up,  tottered  and  fell,  and, 
time  and  again,  essaying  to  stand,  floundered  and 
fell.  And  Lamai  understood,  or  tentatively 
guessed.  He  caught  up  a  cocoanut  calabash  at 
tached  to  the  end  of  a  stick  of  bamboo,  dipped  into 
the  greenery  of  ferns,  and  presented  to  Jerry  the 
calabash  brimming  with  the  precious  water. 

Jerry  lay  on  his  side  at  first  as  he  drank,  until, 
with  the  moisture,  life  flowed  back  into  the 
parched  channels  of  him,  so  that,  soon,  still  weak 
and  shaky,  he  was  up  and  braced  on  all  his  four 
wide-spread  legs  and  still  eagerly  lapping.  The 
boy  chuckled  and  chirped  his  delight  in  the  spec 
tacle,  and  Jerry  found  surcease  and  easement  suf 
ficient  to  enable  him  to  speak  with  his  tongue  after 
the  heart-eloquent  manner  of  dogs.  He  took  his 
nose  out  of  the  calabash  and  with  his  rose-ribbon 
strip  of  tongue  licked  Lamai's  hand.  And  Lamai, 


JERRY  189 

in  ecstasy  over  this  establishment  of  common 
speech,  urged  the  calabash  back  under  Jerry's 
nose,  and  Jerry  drank  again. 

He  continued  to  drink.  He  drank  until  his 
sun-shrunken  sides  stood  out  like  the  walls  of  a 
balloon,  although  longer  were  the  intervals  from 
the  drinking  in  which,  with  his  tongue  of  grate 
fulness,  he  spoke  against  the  black  skin  of  Lamai's 
hand.  And  all  went  well,  and  would  have  con 
tinued  to  go  well,  had  not  Lamai's  mother,  Lener- 
engo,  just  awakened,  stepped  across  her  black 
litter  of  progeny  and  raised  her  voice  in  shrill 
protest  against  her  eldest  born's  introducing  of 
one  more  mouth  and  much  more  nuisance  into  the 
household. 

A  squabble  of  human  speech  followed,  of 
which  Jerry  knew  no  word  but  of  which  he  sensed 
the  significance.  Lamai  was  with  him  and  for 
him.  Lamai's  mother  was  against  him.  She 
shrilled  and  shrewed  her  firm  conviction  that  her 
son  was'  a  fool  and  worse  because  he  had  neither 
the  consideration  nor  the  silly  sense  of  a  fool's 
solicitude  for  a  hardworked  mother.  She  ap 
pealed  to  the  sleeping  Lumai,  who  awoke  heavily 
and  fatly,  who  muttered  and  mumbled  easy  terms 
of  Somo  dialect  to  the  effect  that  it  was  a  most 
decent  world,  that  &11  puppy  dogs  and  eldest-born 


i9o  JERRY 

sons  were  right  delightful  things  to  possess,  that 
he  had  never  yet  starved  to  death,  and  that  peace 
and  sleep  were  the  finest  things  that  ever  befell 
the  lot  of  mortal  man  —  and,  in  token  thereof, 
back  into  the  peace  of  sleep,  he  snuggled  his  nose 
into  the  biceps  of  his  arm  for  a  pillow  and  pro 
ceeded  to  snore. 

But  Lamai,  eyes  stubbornly  sullen,  with  muti 
nous  foot-stampings  and  a  perfect  knowledge  that 
all  was  clear  behind  him  to  leap  and  flee  away  if 
his  mother  rushed  upon  him,  persisted  in  retain 
ing  his  puppy  dog.  In  the  end,  after  an  harangue 
upon  the  worthlessness  of  Lamai's  father,  she 
went  back  to  sleep. 

Ideas  beget  ideas.  Lamai  had  learned  how 
astonishingly  thirsty  Jerry  had  been.  This  en 
gendered  the  idea  that  he  might  be  equally  hungry. 
So  he  applied  dry  branches  of  wood  to  the  smoul 
dering  coals  he  dug  out  of  the  ashes  of  the  cook 
ing  fire,  and  builded  a  large  fire.  Into  this,  as  it 
gained  strength,  he  placed  many  stones  from  a 
convenient  pile,  each  fire-blackened  in  token  that 
it  had  been  similarly  used  many  times.  Next, 
hidden  under  the  water  of  the  brook  in  a  netted 
hand  bag,  he  brought  to  light  the  carcass  of  a  fat 
woods  pigeon  he  had  snared  the  previous  day. 
He  wrapped  the  pigeon  in  green  leaves,  and,  sur- 


JERRY  191 

rounding  it  with  the  hot  stones  from  the  fire,  cov 
ered  pigeon  and  stones  with  earth. 

When,  after  a  time,  he  removed  the  pigeon  and 
stripped  from  it  the  scorched  wrappings  of  leaves, 
it  gave  forth  a  scent  so  savoury  as  to  prick  up 
Jerry's  ears  and  set  his  nostrils  to  quivering. 
When  the  boy  had  torn  the  steaming  carcass 
across  and  cooled  it,  Jerry's  meal  began;  nor  did 
the  meal  cease  till  the  last  sliver  of  meat  had  been 
stripped  and  tongued  from  the  bones  and  the  bones 
crunched  and  crackled  to  fragments  and  swal 
lowed.  And  throughout  the  meal  Lamai  made 
love  to  Jerry,  crooning  over  and  over  his  little 
song,  and  patting  and  caressing  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  refreshed  by  the  water  and 
the  meat,  Jerry  did  not  reciprocate  so  heartily  in 
the  love-making.  He  was  polite,  and  received  his 
petting  with  soft-shining  eyes,  tail-waggings  and 
the  customary  body-wrigglings ;  but  he  was  rest 
less,  and  continually  listened  to  distant  sounds  and 
yearned  away  to  be  gone.  This  was  not  lost  upon 
the  boy,  who,  before  he  curled  himself  down  to 
sleep,  securely  tied  to  a  tree  the  end  of  the  cord 
that  was  about  Jerry's  neck. 

After  straining  against  the  cord  for  a  time, 
Jerry  surrendered  and  slept.  But  not  for  long. 
Skipper  was  too  much  with  him.  He  knew,  and 


192  JERRY 

yet  he  did  not  know,  the  irretrievable  ultimate  dis 
aster  to  Skipper.  So  it  was,  after  low  whinings 
and  whimperings,  that  he  applied  his  sharp  first- 
teeth  to  the  sennit  cord  and  chewed  upon  it  till  it 
parted. 

Free,  like  a  homing  pigeon,  he  headed  blindly 
and  directly  for  the  beach  and  the  salt  sea  over 
which  had  floated  the  Arangi,  on  her  deck  Skip 
per  in  command.  Somo  was  largely  deserted, 
and  those  that  were  in  it  were  sunk  in  sleep.  So 
no  one  vexed  him  as  he  trotted  through  the  wind 
ing  pathways  between  the  many  houses  and  past 
the  obscene  kingposts  of  totemic  heraldry,  where 
the  forms  of  men,  carved  from  single  tree  trunks, 
were  seated  in  the  gaping  jaws  of  carved  sharks. 
For  Somo,  tracing  back  to  Somo  its  founder,  wor 
shipped  the  shark-god  and  the  salt-water  deities 
as  well  as  the  deities  of  the  bush  and  swamp  and 
mountain. 

Turning  to  the  right  until  he  was  past  the  sea 
wall,  Jerry  came  on  down  to  the  beach.  No 
Arangi  was  to  be  seen  on  the  placid  surface  of  the 
lagoon.  All  about  him  was  the  debris  of  the 
feast,  and  he  scented  the  smouldering  odours  of 
dying  fires  and  burnt  meat.  Many  of  the  feasters 
had  not  troubled  to  return  to  their  houses,  but 
lay  about  on  the  sand,  in  the  mid-morning  sun- 


JERRY  193 

shine,  men,  women,  and  children  and  entire  fami 
lies,  wherever  they  had  yielded  to  slumber. 

Down  by  the  water's  edge,  so  close  that  his 
fore-feet  rested  in  the  water,  Jerry  sat  down,  his 
heart  bursting  for  Skipper,  thrust  his  nose  heaven 
ward  at  the  sun,  and  wailed  his  woe  as  dogs  have 
ever  wailed  since  they  came  in  from  the  wild 
woods  to  the  fires  of  men. 

And  here  Lamai  found  him,  hushed  his  grief 
against  his  breast  with  cuddling  arms,  and  car 
ried  him  back  to  the  grass-house  by  the  brook. 
Water  he  offered,  but  Jerry  could  drink  no  more. 
Love  he  offered,  but  Jerry  could  not  forget  his 
torment  of  desire  for  Skipper.  In  the  end,  dis 
gusted  with  so  unreasonable  a  puppy,  Lamai  for 
got  his  love  in  his  boyish  savageness,  clouted  Jerry 
over  the  head,  right  side  and  left,  and  tied  him  as 
few  white  men's  dogs  have  ever  been  tied.  For, 
in  his  way,  Lamai  was  a  genius.  He  had  never 
seen  the  thing  done  with  any  dog,  yet  he  devised, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  the  invention  of  tying 
Jerry  with  a  stick.  The  stick  was  of  bamboo, 
four  feet  long.  One  end  he  tied  shortly  to  Jerry's 
neck,  the  other  end,  just  as  shortly  to  a  tree.  All 
that  Jerry's  teeth  could  reach  was  the  stick,  and 
dry  and  seasoned  bamboo  can  defy  the  teeth  of 
any  dog. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

|X)R  many  days,  tied  by  the  stick,  Jerry  re- 
A  mained  Lamai's  prisoner.  It  was  not  a 
happy  time,  for  the  house  of  Lumai  was  a  house 
of  perpetual  bickering  and  quarrelling.  Lamai 
fought  pitched  battles  with  his  brothers  and  sisters 
for  teasing  Jerry,  and  these  battles  invariably  cul 
minated  in  Lenerengo  taking  a  hand  and  impar 
tially  punishing  all  her  progeny. 

After  that,  as  a  matter  of  course  and  on  gen 
eral  principles,  she  would  have  it  out  with  Lumai, 
whose  soft  voice  always  was  for  quiet  and  repose, 
and  who  always,  at  the  end  of  a  tongue-lashing, 
took  himself  off  to  the  canoe  house  for  a  couple 
of  days.  Here,  Lenerengo  was  helpless.  Into 
the  canoe  house  of  the  stags  no  Mary  might  ven 
ture.  Lenerengo  had  never  forgotten  the  fate 
of  the  last  Mary  who  had  broken  the  taboo.  It 
had  occurred  many  years  before,  when  she  was  a 
girl,  and  the  recollection  was  ever  vivid  of  the  un 
fortunate  woman  hanging  up  in  the  sun  by  one 

arm  for  all  of  a  day,  and  for  all  of  a  second  day 

194 


JERRY  195 

by  the  other  arm.  After  that  she  had  been 
feasted  upon  by  the  stags  of  the  canoe  house,  and 
for  long  afterward  all  women  had  talked  softly 
before  their  husbands. 

Jerry  did  discover  liking  for  Lamai,  but  it  was 
not  strong  nor  passionate.  Rather  was  it  out  of 
gratitude,  for  only  Lamai  saw  to  it  that  he  re 
ceived  food  and  water.  Yet  this  boy  was  no 
Skipper,  no  Mister  Haggin.  Nor  was  he  even  a 
Derby  or  a  Bob.  He  was  that  inferior  man- 
creature,  a  nigger,  and  Jerry  had  been  thoroughly 
trained  all  his  brief  days  to  the  law  that  the  white 
men  were  the  superior  two-legged  gods. 

He  did  not  fail  to  recognise,  however,  the  in 
telligence  and  power  that  resided  in  the  niggers. 
He  did  not  reason  it  out.  He  accepted  it.  They 
had  power  of  command  over  other  objects,  could 
propel  sticks  and  stones  through  the  air,  could 
even  tie  him  a  prisoner  to  a  stick  that  rendered 
him  helpless.  Inferior  as  they  might  be  to  the 
white  gods,  still  they  were  gods  of  a  sort. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  Jerry  had 
been  tied  up,  and  he  did  not  like  it.  Vainly  he 
hurt  his  teeth,  some  of  which  were  loosening 
under  the  pressure  of  the  second  teeth  rising  un 
derneath.  The  stick  was  stronger  than  he.  Al 
though  he  did  not  forget  Skipper,  the  poignancy 


196  JERRY 

of  his  loss  faded  with  the  passage  of  time,  until 
uppermost  in  his  mind  was  the  desire  to  be  free. 

But  when  the  day  came  that  he  was  freed,  he 
failed  to  take  advantage  of  it  and  scuttle  away 
for  the  beach.  It  chanced  that  Lenerengo  re 
leased  him.  She  did  it  deliberately,  desiring  to  be 
quit  of  him.  But  when  she  untied  Jerry,  he 
stopped  to  thank  her,  wagging  his  tail  and  smil 
ing  up  at  her  with  his  hazel-brown  eyes.  She 
stamped  her  foot  at  him  to  be  gone,  and  uttered 
a  harsh  and  intimidating  cry.  This  Jerry  did  not 
understand,  and  so  unused  was  he  to  fear  that  he 
could  not  be  frightened  into  running  away.  He 
ceased  wagging  his  tail,  and,  though  he  continued 
to  look  up  at  her,  his  eyes  no  longer  smiled.  Her 
action  and  noise  he  identified  as  unfriendly,  and 
he  became  alert  and  watchful,  prepared  for  what 
ever  hostile  act  she  might  next  commit. 

Again  she  cried  out  and  stamped  her  foot. 
The  only  effect  on  Jerry  was  to  make  him  transfer 
his  watchfulness  to  the  foot.  This  slowness  in 
getting  away,  now  that  she  had  released  him,  was 
too  much  for  her  short  temper.  She  launched 
the  kick,  and  Jerry,  avoiding  it,  slashed  her  ankle. 

War  broke  on  the  instant,  and  that  she  might 
have  killed  Jerry  in  her  rage  was  highly  probable 
had  not  Lamai  appeared  on  the  scene.  The  stick 


JERRY  197 

untied  from  Jerry's  neck  told  the  tale  of  her 
perfidy  and  incensed  Lamai,  who  sprang  between 
and  deflected  the  blow  with  a  stone  poi-pounder 
that  might  have  brained  Jerry. 

Lamai  was  now  the  one  in  danger  of  grievous 
damage,  and  his  mother  had  just  knocked  him 
down  with  a  clout  alongside  the  head  when  poor 
Lumai,  roused  from  sleep  by  the  uproar,  ventured 
out  to  make  peace.  Lenerengo,  as  usual,  forgot 
everything  else  in  the  fiercer  pleasure  of  berating 
her  spouse. 

The  conclusion  of  the  affair  was  harmless 
enough.  The  children  stopped  their  crying,  Lamai 
retied  Jerry  with  the  stick,  Lenerengo  harangued 
herself  breathless,  and  Lumai  departed  with  hurt 
feelings  for  the  canoe  house  where  stags  could 
sleep  in  peace  and  Marys  pestered  not. 

That  night,  in  the  circle  of  his  fellow  stags, 
Lumai  recited  his  sorrows  and  told  the  cause  of 
them  —  the  puppy  dog  which  had  come  on  the 
Arangi.  It  chanced  that  Agno,  chief  of  the  devil 
devil  doctors,  or  high  priest,  heard  the  tale,  and 
recollected  that  he  had  sent  Jerry  to  the  canoe 
house  along  with  the  rest  of  the  captives.  Half 
an  hour  later  he  was  having  it  out  with  Lamai. 
Beyond  doubt,  the  boy  had  broken  the  taboos,  and 
privily  he  told  him  so,  until  Lamai  trembled  and 


198  JERRY 

wept  and  squirmed  abjectly  at  his  feet,   for  the 
penalty  was  death. 

It  was  too  good  an  opportunity  to  get  a  hold 
over  the  boy  for  Agno  to  misplay  it.  A  dead 
boy  was  worth  nothing  to  him,  but  a  living  boy 
whose  life  he  carried  in  his  hand  would  serve 
him  well.  Since  no  one  else  knew  of  the  broken 
taboo,  he  could  afford  to  keep  quiet.  So  he  or 
dered  Lamai  forthright  down  to  live  in  the  youths' 
canoe  house,  there  to  begin  his  novitiate  in  the 
long  series  of  tasks,  tests  and  ceremonies  that 
would  graduate  him  into  the  bachelors'  canoe 
house  and  half  way  along  toward  being  a  recog 
nised  man. 

In  the  morning,  obeying  the  devil  devil  doctor's 
commands,  Lenerengo  tied  Jerry's  feet  together, 
not  without  a  struggle  in  which  his  head  was 
banged  about  and  her  hands  were  scratched. 
Then  she  carried  him  down  through  the  village 
on  the  way  to  deliver  him  at  Agno's  house.  On 
the  way,  in  the  open  centre  of  the  village  where 
stood  the  king-posts,  she  left  him  lying  on  the 
ground  in  order  to  join  in  the  hilarity  of  the  pop 
ulation. 

Not  only  was  old  Bashti  a  stern  law-giver,  but 
he  was  a  unique  one.  He  had  selected  this  day 


JERRY  199 

as  the  one  time  to  administer  punishment  to  two 
quarrelling  women,  to  give  a  lesson  to  all  other 
women,  and  to  make  all  his  subjects  glad  once 
again  that  they  had  him  for  ruler.  Tiha  and 
Wiwau,  the  two  women,  were  squat  and  stout  and 
young,  and  had  long  been  a  scandal  because  of 
their  incessant  quarrelling.  Bashti  had  set  them 
a  race  to  run.  But  such  a  race.  It  was  side 
splitting.  Men,  women,  and  children,  beholding, 
howled  with  delight.  Even  elderly  matrons  and 
greybeards  with  a  foot  in  the  grave  screeched  and 
shrilled  their  joy  in  the  spectacle. 

The  half-mile  course  lay  the  length  of  the  vil 
lage,  through  its  heart,  from  the  beach  where  the 
Arangi  had  been  burned  to  the  beach  at  the  other 
end  of  the  sea-wall.  It  had  to  be  covered  once 
in  each  direction  by  Tiha  and  Wiwau,  in  each 
case  one  of  them  urging  speed  on  the  other  and 
the  other  desiring  speed  that  was  unattainable. 

Only  the  mind  of  Bashti  could  have  devised  the 
show.  First,  two  round  coral  stones,  weighing 
fully  forty  pounds  each,  were  placed  in  Tiha's 
arms.  She  was  compelled  to  clasp  them  tightly 
against  her  sides  in  order  that  they  might  not 
roll  to  the  ground.  Behind  her,  Bashti  placed 
Wiwau,  who  was  armed  with  a  bristle  of  bamboo 
splints  mounted  on  a  light  long  shaft  of  bamboo. 


200  JERRY 

The  splints  were  sharp  as  needles,  being  indeed 
the  needles  used  in  tattooing,  and  on  the  end  of 
the  pole  they  were  intended  to  be  applied  to  Tiha's 
back  in  the  same  way  that  men  apply  ox-goads  to 
oxen.  No  serious  damage,  but  much  pain,  could 
be  inflicted,  which  was  just  what  Bashti  had  in 
tended. 

Wiwau  prodded  with  the  goad,  and  Tiha  stum 
bled  and  wabbled  in  gymnastic  efforts  to  make 
speed.  Since,  when  the  farther  beach  had  been 
reached,  the  positions  would  be  reversed  and  Wi 
wau  would  carry  the  stones  back  while  Tiha 
prodded,  and  since  Wiwau  knew  that  for  what  she 
gave  Tiha  would  then  try  to  give  more,  Wiwau 
exerted  herself  to  give  the  utmost  while  yet  she 
could.  The  perspiration  ran  down  both  of  them. 
Each  had  her  partisans  in  the  crowd  who  encour 
aged  and  heaped  ridicule  with  every  prod. 

Ludicrous  as  it  was,  behind  it  lay  iron  savage 
law.  The  two  stones  were  to  be  carried  the  en 
tire  course.  The  woman  who  prodded  must  do 
so  with  conviction  and  despatch.  The  woman 
who  was  prodded  must  not  lose  her  temper  and 
fight  her  tormenter.  As  they  had  been  duly  fore 
warned  by  Bashti,  the  penalty  for  infraction  of 
the  rules  he  had  laid  down  was  staking  out  on  the 
reef  at  low  tide  to  be  eaten  by  the  fish-sharks. 


JERRY  201 

As  the  contestants  came  opposite  where  Bashti 
and  Aora  his  prime  minister  stood,  they  redoubled 
their  efforts,  Wiwau  goading  enthusiastically, 
Tiha  jumping  with  every  thrust  to  the  imminent 
danger  of  dropping  the  stones.  At  their  heels 
trooped  the  children  of  the  village  and  all  the 
village  dogs,  whooping  and  yelping  with  excite 
ment. 

"  Long  time  you  fella  Tiha  no  sit'm  along 
canoe,"  Aora  bawled  to  the  victim  and  set  Bashti 
cackling  again. 

At  an  unusually  urgent  prod,  Tiha  dropped  a 
stone  and  was  duly  goaded  while  she  sank  to  her 
knees  and  with  one  arm  scooped  it  in  against  her 
side,  regained  her  feet,  and  waddled  on. 

Once,  in  stark  mutiny  at  so  much  pain,  she 
deliberately  stopped  and  addressed  her  tormen 
tor. 

"  Me  cross  along  you  too  much,"  she  told  Wi 
wau.  "  Bime  by,  close  — " 

But  she  never  completed  the  threat.  A  warmly 
administered  prod  broke  through  her  stoicism  and 
started  her  tottering  along. 

The  shouting  of  the  rabble  ebbed  away  as  the 
queer  race  ran  on  toward  the  beach.  But  in  a 
few  minutes  it  could  be  heard  flooding  back,  this 
time  Wiwau  panting  with  the  weight  of  coral  stone 


202  JERRY 

and  Tiha,  a-smart  with  what  she  had  endured, 
trying  more  than  to  even  the  score. 

Opposite  Bashti,  Wiwau  lost  one  of  the  stones, 
and,  in  the  effort  to  recover  it,  lost  the  other  which 
rolled  a  dozen  feet  away  from  the  first.  Tiha  be 
came  a  whirlwind  of  avenging  fury.  And  all  Somo 
went  wild.  Bashti  held  his  lean  sides  with  merri 
ment  while  tears  of  purest  joy  ran  down  his  pro 
digiously  wrinkled  cheeks. 

And  when  all  was  over,  quoth  Bashti,  to  his 
people:  "  Thus  shall  all  women  fight  when  they 
desire  over  much  to  fight." 

Only  he  did  not  say  it  in  this  way.  Nor  did  he 
say  it  in  the  Somo  tongue.  What  he  did  say  was 
in  beche-de-mer,  and  his  words  were: 

"  Any  fella  Mary  he  like'm  fight,  all  fella  Mary 
along  Somo  fight'm  this  fella  way." 


CHAPTER  XV 

FOR  some  time  after  the  conclusion  of  the 
race,  Bashti  stood  talking  with  his  head 
men,  Agno  among  them.  Lenerengo  was  sim 
ilarly  engaged  with  several  old  cronies.  As  Jerry 
lay  off  to  one  side  where  she  had  forgotten  him, 
the  wild  dog  he  had  bullied  on  the  Arangi  came 
up  and  sniffed  at  him.  At  first  he  sniffed  at  a 
distance,  ready  for  instant  flight.  Then  he  drew 
cautiously  closer.  Jerry  watched  him  with 
smouldering  eyes.  At  the  moment  wild-dog's 
nose  touched  him,  he  uttered  a  warning  growl. 
Wild-dog  sprang  back  and  whirled  away  in  head 
long  flight  for  a  score  of  yards  before  he  learned 
that  he  was  not  pursued. 

Again  he  came  back  cautiously,  as  it  was  the 
instinct  in  him  to  stalk  wild  game,  crouching  so 
close  to  the  ground  that  almost  his  belly  touched. 
He  lifted  and  dropped  his  feet  with  the  lithe  soft 
ness  of  a  cat,  and  from  time  to  time  glanced  to 
right  and  to  left  as  if  in  apprehension  of  some  flank 
attack.  A  noisy  outburst  of  boys'  laughter  in  the 
distance  caused  him  to  crouch  suddenly  down,  his 

203 


204  JERRY 

claws  thrust  into  the  ground  for  purchase,  his 
muscles  tense  springs  for  the  leap  he  knew  not 
in  what  direction  from  the  danger  he  knew  not 
what  that  might  threaten  him.  Then  he  iden 
tified  the  noise,  knew  that  no  harm  impended,  and 
resumed  his  stealthy  advance  on  the  Irish  terrier. 

What  might  have  happened  there  is  no  telling; 
for  at  that  moment  Bashti's  eyes  chanced  to  rest 
on  the  golden  puppy  for  the  first  time  since  the 
capture  of  the  Arangi.  In  the  rush  of  events 
Bashti  had  forgotten  the  puppy. 

"  What  name  that  fella  dog?  "  he  cried  out 
sharply,  causing  wild-dog  to  crouch  down  again 
and  attracting  Lenerengo's  attention. 

She  cringed  in  fear  to  the  ground  before  the 
terrible  old  chief  and  quavered  a  recital  of  the 
facts.  Her  good  for  nothing  boy  Lamai  had 
picked  the  dog  from  the  water.  It  had  been  the 
cause  of  much  trouble  in  her  house.  But  now 
Lamai  had  gone  to  live  with  the  youths,  and  she 
was  carrying  the  dog  to  Agno's  house  at  Agno's 
express  command. 

'  What  name  that  dog  stop  along  you?" 
Bashti  demanded  directly  of  Agno. 

"  Me  kai-kai  along  him,"  came  the  answer. 
"  Him  fat  fella  dog.  Him  good  fella  dog  kai- 
kai." 


JERRY  205 

Into  Bashti's  alert  old  brain  flashed  an  idea  that 
had  been  long  maturing. 

"  Him  good  fella  dog  too  much,"  he  announced. 
"  Better  you  eat'm  bush  fella  dog,"  he  advised, 
pointing  at  wild-dog. 

Agno  shook  his  head.  "  Bush  fella  dog  no 
good  kai-kai." 

"  Bush  fella  dog  no  good  too  much,"  was 
Bashti's  judgment.  "  Bush  fella  dog  too  much 
fright.  Plenty  fella  bush  dog  too  much  fright. 
White  marster's  dog  no  fright.  Bush  dog  no 
fight.  White  marster's  dog  fight  like  hell.  Bush 
dog  run  like  hell.  You  dook'm  eye  belong  you, 
you  see." 

Bashti  stepped  over  to  Jerry  and  cut  the  cords 
that  tied  his  legs.  And  Jerry,  upon  his  feet  in 
a  surge,  was  for  once  in  too  great  haste  to  pause 
to  give  thanks.  He  hurled  himself  after  wild- 
dog,  caught  him  in  mid-flight,  and  rolled  him  over 
and  over  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Ever  wild-dog  strove 
to  escape,  and  ever  Jerry  cornered  him,  rolled 
him,  and  bit  him,  while  Bashti  applauded  and 
called  on  his  head  men  to  behold. 

By  this  time  Jerry  had  become  a  raging  little 
demon.  Fired  by  all  his  wrongs,  from  the  bloody 
day  on  the  Arangi  and  the  loss  of  Skipper  down 
to  this  latest  tying  of  his  legs,  he  was  avenging 


206  JERRY 

himself  on  wild-dog  for  everything.  The  owner 
of  wild-dog,  a  return  boy,  made  the  mistake  of 
trying  to  kick  Jerry  away.  Jerry  was  upon  him 
in  a  flash,  scratching  his  calves  with  his  teeth, 
in  the  suddenness  of  his  onslaught  getting  be 
tween  the  black's  legs  and  tumbling  him  to  the 
ground. 

"  What  name !  "  Bashti  cried  in  a  rage  at  the 
offender,  who  lay  fear-stricken  where  he  had  fal 
len,  trembling  for  wrhat  next  words  might  fall 
from  his  chief's  lips. 

But  Bashti  was  already  doubling  with  laughter 
at  sight  of  wild-dog  running  for  his  life  down  the 
street  with  Jerry  a  hundred  feet  behind  and  tear 
ing  up  the  dust. 

As  they  disappeared,  Bashti  expounded  his  idea. 
If  men  planted  banana  trees,  it  ran,  what  they 
would  get  would  be  bananas.  If  they  planted 
yams,  yams  would  be  produced,  not  sweet  pota 
toes  or  plantains,  but  yams,  nothing  but  yams. 
The  same  with  dogs.  Since  all  black  men's  dogs 
were  cowards,  all  the  breeding  of  all  black  men's 
dogs  would  produce  cowards.  White  men's  dogs 
were  courageous  fighters.  When  they  were  bred 
they  produced  courageous  fighters.  Very  w^ll, 
and  to  the  conclusion,  namely,  here  was  a  white 
man's  dog  in  their  possession.  The  height  of 


JERRY  207 

foolishness  would  be  to  eat  it  and  to  destroy  for 
all  time  the  courage  that  resided  in  it.  The  wise 
thing  to  do  was  to  regard  it  as  a  seed  dog,  to  keep 
it  alive,  so  that  in  the  coming  generations  of  Somo 
dogs  its  courage  would  be  repeated  over  and 
over  and  spread  until  all  Somo  dogs  would  be 
strong  and  brave. 

Further,  Bashti  commanded  his  chief  devil 
devil  doctor  to  take  charge  of  Jerry  and  guard 
him  well.  Also,  he  sent  his  word  forth  to  all 
the  tribe  that  Jerry  was  taboo.  No  man,  woman, 
or  child  was  to  throw  spear  or  stone  at  him,  strike 
him  with  club  or  tomahawk,  or  hurt  him  in  any 
way. 

Thenceforth,  and  until  Jerry  himself  violated 
one  of  the  greatest  of  taboos,  he  had  a  happy  time 
in  Agno's  gloomy  grass  house.  For  Bashti,  un 
like  most  chiefs,  ruled  his  devil  devil  doctors  with 
an  iron  hand.  Other  chiefs,  even  Nau-hau  of 
Langa  Langa,  were  ruled  by  their  devil  devil 
doctors.  For  that  matter,  the  population  of 
Somo  believed  that  Bashti  was  so  ruled.  But 
the  Somo  folk  did  not  know  what  went  on  behind 
the  scenes,  when  Bashti,  a  sheer  infidel,  talked 
alone  now  with  one  doctor  and  now  with  another. 

In  these  private  talks  he  demonstrated  that  he 


208  JERRY 

knew  their  game  as  well  as  they  did,  and  that  he 
was  no  slave  to  the  dark  superstitions  and  gross 
impostures  with  which  they  kept  the  people  in 
submission.  Also,  he  exposited  the  theory,  as  an 
cient  as  priests  and  rulers,  that  priests  and  rulers 
must  work  together  in  the  orderly  governance  of 
the  people.  He  was  content  that  the  people 
should  believe  that  the  gods,  and  the  priests  who 
were  the  mouth-pieces  of  the  gods,  had  the  last 
word,  but  he  would  have  the  priests  know  that  in 
private  the  last  word  was  his.  Little  as  they  be 
lieved  in  their  trickery,  he  told  them,  he  believed 
less. 

He  knew  taboo,  and  the  truth  behind  taboo. 
He  explained  his  personal  taboos,  and  how  they 
came  to  be.  Never  must  he  eat  clam-meat,  he 
told  Agno.  It  was  so  selected  by  himself  because 
he  did  not  like  clam-meat.  It  was  old  Nino,  high 
priest  before  Agno,  with  an  ear  open  to  the  voice 
of  the  shark-god,  who  had  so  laid  the  taboo.  But, 
he,  Bashti,  had  privily  commanded  Nino  to  lay 
the  taboo  against  clam-meat  upon  him,  because  he, 
Bashti,  did  not  like  clam-meat  and  had  never  liked 
clam-meat. 

Still  further,  since  he  had  lived  longer  than  the 
oldest  priest  of  them,  his  had  been  the  appointing 
of  every  one  of  them.  He  knew  them,  had  made 


JERRY  209 

them,  had  placed  them,  and  they  lived  by  his 
pleasure.  And  they  would  continue  to  take  pro 
gramme  from  him,  as  they  had  always  taken  it, 
or  else  they  would  swiftly  and  suddenly  pass.  He 
had  but  to  remind  them  of  the  passing  of  Kori, 
the  devil  devil  doctor  who  had  believed  himself 
stronger  than  his  chief,  and  who,  for  his  mistake, 
had  screamed  in  pain  for  a  week  ere  what  com 
posed  him  had  ceased  to  scream  and  forever 
ceased  to  scream. 

In  Agno's  large  grass  house  was  little  light  and 
much  mystery.  There  was  no  mystery  there  for 
Jerry,  who  merely  knew  things,  or  did  not  know 
things,  and  who  never  bothered  about  what  he 
did  not  know.  Dried  heads  and  other  cured  and 
mouldy  portions  of  human  carcasses  impressed 
him  no  more  than  the  dried  alligators  and  dried 
fish  that  contributed  to  the  festooning  of  Agno's 
dark  abode. 

Jerry  found  himself  well  cared  for.  No  chil 
dren  nor  wives  cluttered  the  devil  devil  doctor's 
house.  Several  old  women,  a  fly-flapping  girl  of 
eleven,  and  two  young  men  who  had  graduated 
from  the  canoe  house  of  the  youths  and  who  were 
studying  priestcraft  under  the  master,  composed 
the  household  and  waited  upon  Jerry.  Food  of 


210  JERRY 

the  choicest  was  his.  After  Agno  had  eaten  first- 
cut  of  pig,  Jerry  was  served  second.  Even  the 
two  acolytes  and  the  fly-flapping  maid  ate  after 
him,  leaving  the  debris  for  the  several  old  women. 
And,  unlike  the  mere  bush  dogs,  who  stole  shelter 
from  the  rain  under  overhanging  eaves,  Jerry  was 
given  a  dry  place  under  the  roof  where  the  heads 
of  bushmen  and  of  forgotten  sandalwood  traders 
hung  down  from  above  in  the  midst  of  a  dusty 
confusion  of  dried  viscera  of  sharks,  crocodile 
skulls,  and  skeletons  of  Solomon  rats  that  meas 
ured  two-thirds  of  a  yard  in  length  from  bone- 
tip  of  nose  to  bone-tip  of  tail. 

A  number  of  times,  all  freedom  being  his,  Jerry 
stole  away  across  the  village  to  the  house  of 
Lumai.  But  never  did  he  find  Lamai,  who,  since 
Skipper,  was  the  only  human  he  had  met  that  had 
placed  a  bid  to  his  heart.  Jerry  never  appeared 
openly,  but  from  the  thick  fern  of  the  brookside 
observed  the  house  and  scented  out  its  occupants. 
No  scent  of  Lamai  did  he  ever  obtain,  and,  after 
a  time,  he  gave  up  his  vain  visits  and  accepted 
the  devil  devil  doctor's  house  as  his  home  and 
the  devil  devil  doctor  as  his  master. 

But  he  bore  no  love  for  this  master.  Agno, 
who  had  ruled  by  fear  so  long  in  his  house  of 
mystery,  did  not  know  love.  Nor  was  affection 


JERRY  211 

any  part  of  him,  nor  was  geniality.  He  had  no 
sense  of  humour,  and  was  as  frostily  cruel  as  an 
icicle.  Next  to  Bashti  he  stood  in  power,  and  all 
his  days  had  been  embittered  in  that  he  was  not 
first  in  power.  He  had  no  softness  for  Jerry. 
Because  he  feared  Bashti  he  feared  to  harm  Jerry. 

The  months  passed,  and  Jerry  got  his  firm  mas 
sive  second  teeth  and  increased  in  weight  and  size. 
He  came  as  near  to  being  spoiled  as  is  possible  for 
a  dog.  Himself  taboo,  he  quickly  learned  to  lord 
it  over  the  Somo  folk  and  to  have  his  way  and 
will  in  all  matters.  No  one  dared  to  dispute  with 
him  with  stick  or  stone.  Agno  hated  him  —  he 
knew  that;  but  also  he  gleaned  the  knowledge  that 
Agno  feared  him  and  would  not  dare  to  hurt 
him.  But  Agno  was  a  chill-blooded  philosopher 
and  bided  his  time,  being  different  from  Jerry  in 
that  he  possessed  human  prevision  and  could  ad 
just  his  actions  to  remote  ends. 

From  the  edge  of  the  lagoon,  into  the  waters 
of  which,  remembering  the  crocodile  taboo  he  had 
learned  on  Meringe,  he  never  ventured,  Jerry 
ranged  to  the  outlying  bush  villages  of  Bashti's  do 
main.  All  made  way  for  him.  All  fed  him 
when  he  desired  food.  For  the  taboo  was  upon 
him,  and  he  might  unchidden  invade  their  sleep 
ing  mats  or  food  calabashes.  He  might  bully  as 


212  JERRY 

he  pleased,  and  be  arrogant  beyond  decency,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  say  him  nay.  Even  had 
Bashti's  word  gone  forth  that  if  Jerry  were  at 
tacked  by  the  full-grown  bush  dogs,  it  was  the 
duty  of  the  Somo  folk  to  take  his  part  and  kick 
and  stone  and  beat  the  bush  dogs.  And  thus  his 
own  four-legged  cousins  came  painfully  to  know 
that  he  was  taboo. 

And  Jerry  prospered.  Fat  to  stupidity  he 
might  well  have  become,  had  it  not  been  for  his 
high-strung  nerves  and  his  insatiable,  eager  curi 
osity.  With  the  freedom  of  all  Somo  his,  he  was 
ever  a-foot  over  it,  learning  its  metes  and  bounds 
and  the  ways  of  the  wild  creatures  that  inhabited 
its  swamps  and  forests  and  that  did  not  acknowl 
edge  his  taboo. 

Many  were  his  adventures.  He  fought  two 
battles  with  the  woods  rats  that  were  almost  of  his 
size,  and  that,  being  mature  and  wild  and  cor 
nered,  fought  him  as  he  had  never  been  fought 
before.  The  first  he  had  killed,  unaware  that  it 
was  an  old  and  feeble  rat.  The  second,  in  prime 
of  vigour,  had  so  punished  him  that  he  crawled 
back,  weak  and  sick,  to  the  devil  devil  doctor's 
house,  where,  for  a  week,  under  the  dried  em 
blems  of  death,  he  licked  his  wounds  and  slowly 
came  back  to  life  and  health. 


JERRY  213 

He  stole  upon  the  dugong  and  joyed  to  stam 
pede  that  silly  timid  creature  by  sudden  fero 
cious  onslaughts  which  he  knew  himself  to  be 
all  sound  and  fury,  but  which  tickled  him  and 
made  him  laugh  with  the  consciousness  of  play 
ing  a  successful  joke.  He  chased  the  unmi- 
gratory  tropic  ducks  from  their  shrewd-hidden 
nests,  walked  circumspectly  among  the  crocodiles 
hauled  out  of  water  for  slumber,  and  crept 
under  the  jungle-roof  and  spied  upon  the  snow- 
white  saucy  cockatoos,  the  fierce  ospreys,  the 
heavy-flighted  buzzards,  the  lories  and  kingfish 
ers,  and  the  absurdly  garrulous  pygmy  par 
rots. 

Thrice,  beyond  the  boundaries  of  Somo,  he  en 
countered  the  little  black  bushmen  who  were  more 
like  ghosts  than  men,  so  noiseless  and  unperceiv- 
able  were  they,  and  who,  guarding  the  wild-pig 
runways  of  the  jungle,  missed  spearing  him  on 
the  three  memorable  occasions.  As  the  wood 
rats  had  taught  him  discretion,  so  did  these  two- 
legged  lurkers  in  the  jungle  twilight.  He  had 
not  fought  with  them,  although  they  tried  to  spear 
him.  He  quickly  came  to  know  that  these  were 
other  folk  than  Somo  folk,  that  his  taboo  did 
not  extend  to  them,  and  that,  even  of  a  sort,  they 
were  two-legged  gods  who  carried  flying  death 


2i4  JERRY 

in  their  hands  that  reached  farther  than  their 
hands  and  bridged  distance. 

As  he  ran  the  jungle,  so  Jerry  ran  the  village. 
No  place  was  sacred  to  him.  In  the  devil  devil 
houses,  where,  before  the  face  of  mystery  men 
and  women  crawled  in  fear  and  trembling,  he 
'  walked  stiff-legged  and  bristling;  for  fresh  heads 
were  suspended  there  —  heads  his  eyes  and  keen 
nostrils  identified  as  those  of  once  living  blacks 
he  had  known  on  board  the  Arangl.  In  the  big 
gest  devil  devil  house  he  encountered  the  head  of 
Borckman,  and  snarled  at  it,  without  receiving 
response,  in  recollection  of  the  fight  he  had  fought 
with  the  schnapps-addled  mate  on  the  deck  of  the 
Arangi. 

Once,  however,  in  Bashti's  house,  he  chanced 
upon  all  that  remained  on  earth  of  Skipper. 
Bashti  had  lived  very  long,  had  lived  most  wisely 
and  thought  much,  and  was  thoroughly  aware 
that,  having  lived  far  beyond  the  span  of  man, 
his  own  span  was  very  short.  And  he  was  curious 
about  it  all  —  the  meaning  and  purpose  of  life. 
He  loved  the  world  and  life,  into  which  he  had 
been  fortunately  born,  both  as  to  constitution  and 
to  place,  which  latter,  for  him,  had  been  the  high 
place  over  his  priests  and  people.  He  was  not 
afraid  to  die,  but  he  wondered  if  he  might  live 


JERRY  215 

again.  He  discounted  the  silly  views  of  the 
tricky  priests,  and  he  was  very  much  alone  in  the 
chaos  of  the  confusing  problem. 

For  he  had  lived  so  long,  and  so  luckily,  that 
he  had  watched  the  waning  to  extinction  of  all 
the  vigorous  appetites  and  desires.  He  had 
known  wives  and  children,  and  the  keen-edge  of 
youthful  hunger.  He  had  seen  his  children  grow 
to  manhood  and  womanhood  and  become  fathers 
and  grandfathers,  mothers  and  grandmothers. 
But  having  known  woman,  and  love,  and  father 
hood,  and  the  belly-delights  of  eating,  he  had 
passed  on  beyond.  Food?  Scarcely  did  he 
know  its  meaning,  so  little  did  he  eat.  Hunger, 
that  bit  him  like  a  spur  when  he  was  young  and 
lusty,  had  long  since  ceased  to  stir  and  prod  him. 
He  ate  out  of  a  sense  of  necessity  and  duty,  and 
cared  little  for  what  he  ate,  save  for  one  thing: 
the  eggs  of  the  megapodes  that  were,  in  season, 
laid  in  his  private,  personal,  strictly  tabooed  meg- 
apode  laying  yard.  Here  was  left  to  him  his 
last  lingering  flesh  thrill.  As  for  the  rest,  he 
lived  in  his  intellect,  ruling  his  people,  seeking  out 
data  from  which  to  induce  laws  that  would  make 
his  people  stronger  and  rivet  his  people's  clinch 
upon  life. 

But  he  realised  clearly  the  difference  between 


216  JERRY 

the  abstract  thing,  the  tribe,  and  that  most  con 
crete  of  things,  the  individual.  The  tribe  per 
sisted.  Its  members  passed.  The  tribe  was  a 
memory  of  the  history  and  habits  of  all  previous 
members,  which  the  living  members  carried  on 
until  they  passed  and  became  history  and  memory 
in  the  intangible  sum  that  was  the  tribe.  He, 
as  a  member,  soon  or  late,  and  late  was  very  near, 
must  pass.  But  pass  to  what?  There  was  the 
rub !  And  so  it  was,  on  occasion,  that  he  or 
dered  all  forth  from  his  big  grass  house,  and, 
alone  with  his  problem,  lowered  from  the  roof- 
beams  the  matting-wrapped  parcels  of  heads  of 
men,  some  of  which  he  had  once  seen  live  and 
who  had  passed  into  the  mysterious  nothingness 
of  death. 

Not  as  a  miser  had  he  collected  these  heads, 
and  not  as  a  miser  counting  his  secret  hoard  did 
he  ponder  these  heads,  unwrapped,  held  in  his 
two  hands  or  lying  on  his  knees.  He  wanted  to 
know.  He  wanted  to  know  what  he  guessed 
they  might  know,  now  that  they  had  long  since 
gone  into  the  darkness  that  rounds  the  end  of 
life. 

Various  were  the  heads  Bashti  thus  interro 
gated  —  in  his  hands,  on  his  knees,  in  his  dim- 
lighted  grass  house,  while  the  overhead  sun 


JERRY  217 

blazed  down  and  the  growing  monsoon  sighed 
through  the  palm-fronds  and  breadfruit  branches. 
There  was  the  head  of  a  Japanese  —  the  only 
one  he  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of.  Before  he 
was  born  it  had  been  taken  by  his  father.  Ill- 
cured  it  was,  and  battered  and  marred  with  an- 
cientness  and  rough  usage.  Yet  he  studied  its 
features,  decided  that  it  had  once  had  two  lips 
as  live  as  his  own  and  a  mouth  as  vocal  and 
hungry  as  his  had  often  been  in  the  past.  Two 
eyes  and  a  nose  it  had  had,  a  thatched  crown  of 
roof,  and  a  pair  of  ears  like  to  his  own.  Two 
legs  and  a  body  it  must  once  have  had,  and  desires 
and  lusts.  Heats  of  wrath  and  of  love,  so  he 
decided,  had  also  been  its  once  on  a  time  when  it 
never  thought  to  die. 

A  head  that  amazed  him  much,  whose  history 
went  back  before  his  father's  and  grandfather's 
time,  was  the  head  of  a  Frenchman,  although 
Bashti  knew  it  not.  Nor  did  he  know  it  was  the 
head  of  La  Perouse,  the  doughty  old  navigator 
who  had  left  his  bones,  the  bones  of  his  crews, 
and  the  bones  of  his  two  frigates,  the  Astrolabe 
and  the  Boussole,  on  the  shores  of  the  cannibal 
Solomons.  Another  head  —  for  Bashti  was  a 
confirmed  head-collector  —  went  back  two  cen 
turies  before  La  Perouse  to  Alvaro  de  Mendana, 


2i8  JERRY 

the  Spaniard.  It  was  the  head  of  one  of  Men- 
dana's  armourers,  lost  in  a  beach  scrimmage  to 
one  of  Bashti's  remote  ancestors. 

Still  another  head,  the  history  of  which  was 
vague,  was  a  white  woman's  head.  What  wife 
of  what  navigator  there  was  no  telling.  But  ear 
rings  of  gold  and  emerald  still  clung  to  the  with 
ered  ears,  and  the  hair,  two-thirds  of  a  fathom 
long,  a  shimmering  silk  of  golden  floss,  flowed 
from  the  scalp  that  covered  what  had  once  been 
the  wit  and  will  of  her  that  Bashti  reasoned  had 
in  her  ancient  time  been  quick  with  love  in  the 
arms  of  man. 

Ordinary  heads,  of  bushmen  and  salt-water 
men,  and  even  of  schnapps-drinking  white  men 
like  Borckman,  he  relegated  to  the  canoe  houses 
and  devil  devil  houses.  For  he  was  a  connoisseur 
in  the  matter  of  heads.  There  was  a  strange 
head  of  a  German  that  lured  him  much.  Red- 
bearded  it  was,  and  red-haired,  but  even  in  dried 
death  there  was  an  iron-ness  of  feature  and  a  mas 
sive  brow  that  hinted  to  him  of  mastery  of  se 
crets  beyond  his  ken.  No  more  than  did  he  know 
it  once  had  been  a  German,  did  he  know  it  was  a 
German  professor's  head,  an  astronomer's  head, 
a  head  that  in  its  time  had  carried  within  its  con 
tent  profound  knowledge  of  the  stars  in  the  vasty 


JERRY  219 

heavens,  of  the  way  of  star-directed  ships  upon 
the  sea,  and  of  the  way  of  the  earth  on  its  starry 
course  through  space  that  was  a  myriad  million 
times  beyond  the  slight  concept  of  space  that  he 
possessed. 

Last  of  all,  sharpest  of  bite  in  his  thought,  was 
the  head  of  Van  Horn.  And  it  was  the  head  of 
Van  Horn  that  lay  on  his  knees  under  his  con 
templation  when  Jerry,  who  possessed  the  free 
dom  of  Somo,  trotted  into  Bashti's  grass  house, 
scented  and  identified  the  mortal  remnant  of  Skip 
per,  wailed  first  in  woe  over  it,  then  bristled  into 
rage. 

Bashti  did  not  notice  at  first,  for  he  was  deep 
in  interrogation  of  Van  Horn's  head.  Only 
short  months  before,  this  head  had  been  alive, 
he  pondered,  quick  with  wit,  attached  to  a  two- 
legged  body  that  stood  erect  and  that  swaggered 
about,  a  loin-cloth  and  a  belted  automatic  around 
its  middle,  more  powerful,  therefrom,  than 
Bashti,  but  with  .less  wit,  for  had  not  he,  Bashti, 
with  an  ancient  pistol,  put  darkness  inside  that 
skull  where  wit  resided,  and  removed  that  skull 
from  the  soddenly  relaxed  framework  of  flesh 
and  bone  on  which  it  had  been  supported  to  tread 
the  earth  and  the  deck  of  the  Arangi? 

What  had  become  of  that  wit?     Had  that  wit 


220  JERRY 

been  all  of  the  arrogant,  upstanding  Van  Horn, 
and  had  it  gone  out  as  the  flickering  flame  of  a 
splinter  of  wood  goes  out  when  it  is  quite  burnt 
to  a  powder-fluff  of  ash?  Had  all  that  made 
Van  Horn  passed  like  the  flame  of  the  splinter? 
Had  he  passed  into  the  darkness  forever  into 
which  the  beast  passed,  into  which  passed  the 
speared  crocodile,  the  hooked  bonita,  the  netted 
mullet,  the  slain  pig  that  was  fat  to  eat?  Was 
Van  Horn's  darkness  as  the  darkness  of  the  blue 
bottle  fly  that  his  fly-flapping  maid  smashed  and 
disrupted  in  mid-flight  of  the  air?  —  as  the  dark 
ness  into  which  passed  the  mosquito  that  knew 
the  secret  of  flying,  and  that,  despite  its  perfect- 
ness  of  flight,  with  almost  an  unthought  action, 
be  squashed  with  the  flat  of  his  hand  against  the 
back  of  his  neck  when  it  bit  him? 

What  was  true  of  this  white  man's  head,  so 
recently  alive  and  erectly  dominant,  Bashti  knew 
was  true  of  himself.  What  had  happened  to 
this  white  man,  after  going  through  the  dark 
gate  of  death,  would  happen  to  him.  Where 
fore  he  questioned  the  head,  as  if  its  dumb  lips 
might  speak  to  him  from  out  of  the  mystery  and 
tell  him  the  meaning  of  life,  and  the  meaning  of 
death  that  inevitably  laid  life  by  the  heels. 

Jerry's  long-drawn  howl  of  woe  at  sight  and 


JERRY  221 

scent  of  all  that  was  left  of  Skipper,  roused 
Bashti  from  his  reverie.  He  looked  at  the  sturdy, 
golden-brown  puppy,  and  immediately  included  it 
in  his  reverie.  It  was  alive.  It  was  like  man. 
It  knew  hunger,  and  pain,  anger  and  love.  It 
had  blood  in  its  veins,  like  man,  that  a  thrust  of 
a  knife  could  make  redly  gush  forth  and  denude 
it  to  death.  Like  the  race  of  man  it  loved  its 
kind,  and  birthed  and  breast-nourished  its  young. 
And  passed.  Ay,  it  passed;  for  many  a  dog,  as 
well  as  human,  had  he,  Bashti,  devoured  in  his 
heydey  of  appetite  and  youth,  when  he  knew 
only  motion  and  strength,  and  fed  motion  and 
strength  out  of  the  calabashes  of  feasting. 

But  from  woe  Jerry  went  on  into  anger.  He 
stalked  stiff-legged,  with  a  snarl  writhen  on  his 
lips,  and  with  recurrent  waves  of  hair-bristling 
along  his  back  and  up  his  shoulders  and  neck. 
And  he  stalked  not  the  head  of  Skipper,  where 
rested  his  love,  but  Bashti,  who  held  the  head  on 
his  knees.  As  the  wild  wolf  in  the  upland  pas 
ture  stalks  the  mare  mother  with  her  newly  de 
livered  colt,  so  Jerry  stalked  Bashti.  And  Bashti, 
who  had  never  feared  death  all  his  long  life  and 
who  had  laughed  a  joke  with  his  forefinger  blown 
off  by  the  bursting  flint-lock  pistol,  smiled  glee 
fully  to  himself,  for  his  glee  was  intellectual  and 


222  JERRY 

in  admiration  of  this  half-grown  puppy  whom  he 
rapped  on  the  nose  with  a  short,  hardwood  stick 
and  compelled  to  keep  distance.  No  matter  how 
often  and  fiercely  Jerry  rushed  him,  he  met  the 
rush  with  the  stick,  and  chuckled  aloud,  under 
standing  the  puppy's  courage,  marvelling  at  the 
stupidity  of  life  that  impelled  him  continually  to 
thrust  his  nose  to  the  hurt  of  the  stick,  and  that 
drove  him,  by  passion  of  remembrance  of  a  dead 
man,  to  dare  the  pain  of  the  stick  again  and  again. 

This,  too,  was  life,  Bashti  meditated,  as  he 
deftly  rapped  the  screaming  puppy  away  from 
him.  Four-legged  life  it  was,  young  and  silly  and 
hot,  heart-prompted,  that  was  like  any  young  man 
making  love  to  his  woman  in  the  twilight,  or 
like  any  young  man  fighting  to  the  death  with 
any  other  young  man  over  a  matter  of  passion, 
hurt  pride,  or  thwarted  desire.  As  much  as  in 
the  dead  head  of  Van  Horn  or  of  any  man,  he 
realised  that  in  this  live  puppy  might  reside  the 
clue  to  existence,  the  solution  of  the  riddle. 

So  he  continued  to  rap  Jerry  on  the  nose  away 
from  him,  and  to  marvel  at  the  persistence  of 
the  vital  something  within  him  that  impelled  him 
to  leap  forward  always  to  the  stick  that  hurt  him 
and  made  him  recoil.  The  valour  and  motion, 
the  strength  and  the  unreasoning  of  youth  he  knew 


JERRY  223 

it  to  be,  and  he  admired  it  sadly,  and  envied  it; 
willing  to  exchange  for  it  all  his  lean  grey  wisdom 
if  only  he  could  find  the  way. 

"  Some  dog,  that  dog,  sure  some  dog,"  he 
might  have  uttered  in  Van  Horn's  fashion  of 
speech.  Instead,  in  beche-de-mer,  which  was  as 
habitual  to  him  as  his  own  Somo  speech,  he 
thought  : 

"  My  word,   that   fella   dog  no    fright   along 


me." 


But  age  wearied  sooner  of  the  play,  and  Bashti 
put  an  end  to  it  by  rapping  Jerry  heavily  behind 
the  ear  and  stretching  him  out  stunned.  The 
spectacle  of  the  puppy,  so  alive  and  raging  the 
moment  before,  and,  the  moment  after,  lying  as 
if  dead,  caught  Bashti's  speculative  fancy.  The 
stick,  with  a  single  sharp  rap  of  it,  had  effected 
the  change.  Where  had  gone  the  anger  and  wit 
of  the  puppy?  Was  that  all  it  was,  the  flame 
of  the  splinter  that  could  be  quenched  by  any 
chance  gust  of  air?  One  instant  Jerry  had  raged 
and  suffered,  snarled  and  leaped,  willed  and  di 
rected  his  action.  The  next  instant  he  lay  limp 
and  crumpled  in  the  little  death  of  unconscious 
ness.  In  a  brief  space,  Bashti  knew,  conscious 
ness,  sensation,  motion,  and  direction  would  flow 
back  into  the  wilted  little  carcass.  But  where, 


224  JERRY 

in  the  meanwhile,  at  the  impact  of  the  stick,  had 
gone  all  the  consciousness,  and  sensitiveness,  and 
will? 

Bashti  sighed  wearily,  and  wearily  wrapped 
the  heads  in  their  grass-mat  coverings  —  all  but 
Van  Horn's;  and  hoisted  them  up  in  the  air  to 
hang  from  the  roof-beams  —  to  hang,  as  he  de 
bated,  long  after  he  was  dead  and  out  of  it,  even 
as  some  of  them  had  so  hung  from  long  before 
his  father's  and  his  grandfather's  time.  The 
head  of  Van  Horn  he  left  lying  on  the  floor,  while 
he  stole  out  himself  to  peer  in  through  a  crack  and 
see  what  next  the  puppy  might  do. 

Jerry  quivered  at  first,  and  in  the  matter  of  a 
minute  struggled  feebly  to  his  feet  where  he  stood 
swaying  and  dizzy;  and  thus  Bashti,  his  eye  to 
the  crack,  saw  the  miracle  of  life  flow  back 
through  the  channels  of  the  inert  body  and  stiffen 
the  legs  to  upstanding,  and  saw  consciousness,  the 
mystery  of  mysteries,  flood  back  inside  the  head 
of  bone  that  was  covered  with  hair,  smoulder  and 
grow  in  the  opening  eyes,  and  direct  the  lips  to 
writhe  away  from  the  teeth  and  the  throat  to 
vibrate  to  the  snarl  that  had  been  interrupted 
when  the  stick  smashed  him  down  into  darkness. 

And  more  Bashti  saw.  At  first,  Jerry  looked 
about  for  his  enemy,  growling  and  bristling  his 


JERRY  225 

neck  hair.  Next,  in  lieu  of  his  enemy,  he  saw 
Skipper's  head,  and  crept  to  it  and  loved  it,  kiss 
ing  with  his  tongue  the  hard  cheeks,  the  closed 
lids  of  the  eyes  that  his  love  could  not  open,  the 
immobile  lips  that  would  not  utter  one  of  the  love- 
words  they  had  been  used  to  utter  to  the  little 
dog. 

Next,  in  profound  desolation,  Jerry  sat  down 
before  Skipper's  head,  pointed  his  nose  toward 
the  lofty  ridge-pole,  and  howled  mournfully  and 
long.  Finally,  sick  and  subdued,  he  crept  out  of 
the  house  and  away  to  the  house  of  his  devil 
devil  master,  where,  for  the  round  of  twenty- 
four  hours,  he  waked  and  slept  and  dreamed  cen 
turies  of  nightmares. 

Forever  after  in  Somo,  Jerry  feared  that  grass 
house  of  Bashti.  He  was  not  in  fear  of  Bashti. 
His  fear  was  indescribable  and  unthinkable.  In 
that  house  was  the  nothingness  of  what  once  was 
Skipper.  It  was  the  token  of  the  ultimate  catas 
trophe  to  life  that  was  wrapped  and  twisted  into 
every  fibre  of  his  heredity.  One  step  advanced 
beyond  this,  Jerry's  uttermost,  the  folk  of  Somo, 
from  the  contemplation  of  death,  had  achieved 
concepts  of  the  spirits  of  the  dead  still  living  in 
immaterial  and  supersensuous  realms. 

And  thereafter  Jerry  hated  Bashti  intensely,  as 


226  JERRY 

a  lord  of  life  who  possessed  and  laid  on  his  knees 
the  nothingness  of  Skipper.  Not  that  Jerry  rea 
soned  it  out.  All  dim  and  vague  it  was,  a  sensa 
tion,  an  emotion,  a  feeling,  an  instinct,  an  intui 
tion,  name  it  mistily  as  one  will  in  the  misty  nomen 
clature  of  speech  wherein  words  cheat  with  the 
impression  of  definiteness  and  lie  to  the  brain  an 
understanding  which  the  brain  does  not  possess. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THREE  months  more  passed;  the  northwest 
monsoon,  after  its  half-year  of  breath,  had 
given  way  to  the  southeast  trade;  and  Jerry  still 
continued  to  live  in  the  house  of  Agno  and  to 
have  the  run  of  the  village.  He  had  put  on 
weight,  increased  in  size,  and,  protected  by  the 
taboo,  had  become  self-confident  almost  to  lordli 
ness.  But  he  had  found  no  master.  Agno  had 
never  won  a  heart-throb  from  him.  For  that 
matter,  Agno  had  never  tried  to  win  him.  Nor, 
in  his  cold-blooded  way,  had  he  ever  betrayed  his 
hatred  of  Jerry. 

Not  even  the  several  old  women,  the  two 
acolytes,  and  the  fly-flapping  maid  in  Agno's 
house  dreamed  that  the  devil  devil  doctor  hated 
Jerry.  Nor  did  Jerry  dream  it.  To  him  Agno 
was  a  neutral  sort  of  person,  a  person  who  did 
not  count.  Those  of  the  household  Jerry  recog 
nised  as  slaves  or  servants  to  Agno,  and  he  knew 
when  they  fed  him  that  the  food  he  ate  proceeded 
from  Agno  and  was  Agno's  food.  Save  himself, 
taboo-protected,  all  of  them  feared  Agno,  and 

227 


228  JERRY 

his  house  was  truly  a  house  of  fear  in  which  could 
bloom  no  love  for  a  stray  puppy  dog.  The 
eleven-years'  maid  might  have  placed  a  bid  for 
Jerry's  affection,  had  she  not  been  deterred  at 
the  start  by  Agno,  who  reprimanded  her  sternly 
for  presuming  to  touch  or  fondle  a  dog  of  such 
high  taboo. 

What  delayed  Agno's  plot  against  Jerry  for  the 
half-year  of  the  monsoon  was  the  fact  that  the 
season  of  egg-laying  for  the  megapodes  in  Bashti's 
private  laying  yard  did  not  begin  until  the  period 
of  the  southeast  trades.  And  Agno,  having 
early  conceived  his  plot,  with  the  patience  that 
was  characteristic  of  him  was  content  to  wait  the 
time. 

Now  the  megapode  of  the  Solomons  is  a  dis 
tant  cousin  to  the  brush  turkey  of  Australia. 
No  larger  than  a  large  pigeon,  it  lays  an  egg 
the  size  of  a  domestic  duck's.  The  megapode, 
with  no  sense  of  fear,  is  so  silly  that  it  would 
have  been  annihilated  hundreds  of  centuries  be 
fore  had  it  not  been  preserved  by  the  taboos  of 
the  chiefs  and  priests.  As  it  was,  the  chiefs  were 
compelled  to  keep  cleared  patches  of  sand  for  it, 
and  to  fence  out  the  dogs.  It  buried  its  eggs  two 
feet  deep,  depending  on  the  heat  of  the  sun  for 
the  hatching.  And  it  would  dig  and  lay,  and 


JERRY  229 

continue  to  dig  and  lay,  while  a  black  dug  out  its 
eggs  within  two  or  three  feet  of  it. 

The  laying  yard  was  Bashti's.  During  the 
season,  he  lived  almost  entirely  on  megapode  eggs. 
On  rare  occasion  he  even  had  megapodes  that 
were  near  to  finishing  their  laying  killed  for  his 
kai-kai.  This  was  no  more  than  a  whim,  how 
ever,  prompted  by  pride  in  such  exclusiveness  of 
diet  only  possible  to  one  in  such  high  place.  In 
truth,  he  cared  no  more  for  megapode  meat  than 
for  any  other  meat.  All  meat  tasted  alike  to 
him,  for  his  taste  for  meat  was  one  of  the  van 
ished  pleasures  in  the  limbo  of  memory. 

But  the  eggs!  He  liked  to  eat  them.  They 
were  the  only  article  of  food  he  liked  to  eat.  They 
gave  him  reminiscent  thrills  of  the  ancient  food- 
desires  of  his  youth.  Actually  was  he  hungry 
when  he  had  megapode  eggs,  and  the  well-nigh 
dried  founts  of  saliva  and  of  internal  digestive 
juices  were  stimulated  to  flow  again  at  contem 
plation  of  a  megapode  egg  prepared  for  the  eat 
ing.  Wherefore,  he  alone  of  all  Somo,  barred  rig 
idly  by  taboo,  ate  megapode  eggs.  And,  since 
the  taboo  was  essentially  religious,  to  Agno  was 
deputed  the  ecclesiastical  task  of  guarding  and 
cherishing  and  caring  for  the  royal  laying  yard. 

But  Agno  was  no  longer  young.     The  acid  bite 


23o  JERRY 

of  belly  desire  had  long  since  deserted  him,  and 
he,  too,  ate  from  a  sense  of  duty,  all  meat  tasting 
alike  to  him.  Megapode  eggs  only  stung  his 
taste  alive  and  stimulated  the  flow  of  his  juices. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  broke  the  taboos  he  imposed, 
and,  privily,  before  the  eyes  of  no  man,  woman, 
or  child,  ate  the  eggs  he  stole  from  Bashti's  pri 
vate  preserve. 

So  it  was,  as  the  laying  season  began,  and  when 
both  Bashti  and  Agno  were  acutely  egg-yearning 
after  six  months  of  abstinence,  that  Agno  led 
Jerry  along  the  taboo  path  through  the  man 
groves,  where  they  stepped  from  root  to  root 
above  the  muck  that  ever  steamed  and  stank  in 
the  stagnant  air  where  the  wind  never  penetrated. 

The  path,  which  was  not  an  ordinary  path  and 
which  consisted,  for  a  man,  in  wide  strides  from 
root  to  root,  and  for  a  dog  in  four-legged  leaps 
and  plunges,  was  new  to  Jerry.  In  all  his  rang 
ing  of  Somo,  because  it  was  so  unusual  a  path, 
he  had  never  discovered  it.  The  unbending  of 
Agno,  thus  to  lead  him,  was  a  surprise  and  a  de 
light  to  Jerry,  who,  without  reasoning  about  it, 
in  a  vague  way  felt  the  preliminary  sensations 
that  possibly  Agno,  in  a  small  way,  might  prove 
the  master  which  his  dog's  soul  continually  sought. 

Emerging    from    the    swamp    of    mangroves, 


JERRY  231 

abruptly  they  came  upon  a  patch  of  sand,  still 
so  salt  and  inhospitable  from  the  sea's  deposit 
that  no  great  trees  rooted  and  interposed  their 
branches  between  it  and  the  sun's  heat.  A  primi 
tive  gate  gave  entrance,  but  Agno  did  not  take 
Jerry  through  it.  Instead,  with  weird  little  chir- 
rupings  of  encouragement  and  excitation,  he  per 
suaded  Jerry  to  dig  a  tunnel  beneath  the  rude 
palisade  of  fence.  He  helped  with  his  own  hands, 
dragging  out  the  sand  in  quantities,  but  imposing 
on  Jerry  the  leaving  of  the  indubitable  marks  of 
a  dog's  paws  and  claws. 

And,  when  Jerry  was  inside,  Agno,  passing 
through  the  gate,  enticed  and  seduced  him  into 
digging  out  the  eggs.  But  Jerry  had  no  taste 
of  the  eggs.  Eight  of  them  Agno  sucked  raw, 
and  two  of  them  he  tucked  whole  into  his  arm 
pits  to  take  back  to  his  house  of  the  devil  devils. 
The  shells  of  the  eight  he  sucked  he  broke  to  frag 
ments  as  a  dog  might  break  them,  and,  to  build 
the  picture  he  had  long  visioned,  of  the  eighth 
egg  he  reserved  a  tiny  portion  which  he  spread, 
not  on  Jerry's  jowls  where  his  tongue  could  have 
erased  it,  but  high  up  about  his  eyes  and  above 
them,  where  it  would  remain  and  stand  witness 
against  him  according  to  the  plot  he  had  planned. 

Even  worse,  in  high  priestly  sacrilege,  he  en- 


232  JERRY 

couraged  Jerry  to  attack  a  megapode  hen  in  the 
act  of  laying.  And,  while  Jerry  slew  it,  knowing 
that  the  lust  of  killing,  once  started,  would  lead 
him  to  continue  killing  the  silly  birds,  Agno  left 
the  laying  yard  to  hot-foot  it  through  the  man 
grove  swamp  and  present  to  Bashti  an  ecclesias 
tical  quandary.  The  taboo  of  the  dog,  as  he 
expounded  it,  had  prevented  him  from  interfer 
ing  with  the  taboo  dog  when  it  ate  the  taboo 
egg-layers.  Which  taboo  might  be  the  greater 
was  beyond  him.  And  Bashti,  who  had  not 
tasted  a  megapode  egg  in  half  a  year,  and  who 
was  keen  for  the  one  recrudescent  thrill  of  re 
mote  youth  still  left  to  him,  led  the  way  back 
across  the  mangrove  swamp  at  so  prodigious  a 
pace  as  quite  to  wind  his  high  priest  who  was  many 
years  younger  than  he. 

He  arrived  at  the  laying  yard  and  caught 
Jerry,  red-pawed  and  red-mouthed,  in  the  midst 
of  his  fourth  kill  of  an  egg-layer,  the  raw  yellow 
yolk  of  the  portion  of  one  egg,  plastered  by  Agno 
to  represent  many  eggs,  still  about  his  eyes  and 
above  his  eyes  to  the  bulge  of  his  forehead.  In 
vain  Bashti  looked  about  for  one  egg,  the  six 
months'  hunger  stronger  than  ever  upon  him  in 
the  thick  of  the  disaster.  And  Jerry,  under  the 
consent  and  encouragement  of  Agno,  wagged  his 


JERRY  233 

tail  to  Bashti  in  a  bid  for  recognition  of  prowess, 
and  laughed  with  his  red-dripping  jowls  and  yel 
low-plastered  eyes. 

Bashti  did  not  rage  as  he  would  have  done  had 
he  been  alone.  Before  the  eyes  of  his  chief  priest 
he  disdained  to  lower  himself  to  such  commonness 
of  humanity.  Thus  it  is  always  with  those  in  the 
high  places,  ever  temporising  with  their  natural 
desires,  ever  masking  their  ordinariness  under  a 
show  of  disinterest.  So  it  was  that  Bashti  dis 
played  no  vexation  at  the  disappointment  to  his 
appetite.  Agno  was  a  shade  less  controlled,  for 
he  could  not  quite  chase  away  the  eager  light  in 
his  eyes.  Bashti  glimpsed  it  and  mistook  it  for 
simple  curiosity  of  observation,  not  guessing  its 
real  nature.  Which  goes  to  show  two  things  of 
those  in  the  high  place:  one,  that  they  may  fool 
those  beneath  them;  the  other,  that  they  may  be 
fooled  by  those  beneath  them. 

Bashti  regarded  Jerry  quizzically,  as  if  the  mat 
ter  were  a  joke,  and  shot  a  careless  side  glance  to 
note  the  disappointment  in  his  priest's  eyes.  Ah, 
ha,  thought  Bashti;  I  have  fooled  him. 

"  Which  is  the  high  taboo?  "  Agno  queried  in 
the  Somo  tongue. 

"  As  you  should  ask.  Of  a  surety,  the  mega- 
pode."  ' 


234  JERRY 

"  And  the  dog?  "  was  Agno's  next  query. 

"  Must  pay  for  breaking  the  taboo.  It  is  a 
high  taboo.  It  is  my  taboo.  It  was  so  placed  by 
Somo,  the  ancient  father  and  first  ruler  of  all  of 
us,  and  it  has  been  ever  since  the  taboo  of  the 
chiefs.  The  dog  must  die." 

He  paused  and  considered  the  matter,  while 
Jerry  returned  to  digging  the  sand  where  the 
scent  was  auspicious.  Agno  made  to  stop  him, 
but  Bashti  interposed. 

"  Let  be,"  he  said.  "  Let  the  dog  convict  him 
self  before  my  eyes." 

And  Jerry  did,  uncovering  two  eggs,  breaking 
them  and  lapping  that  portion  of  their  precious 
contents  which  was  not  spilled  and  wasted  in  the 
sand.  Bashti's  eyes  were  quite  lack-lustre  as  he 
asked : 

"  The  feast  of  dogs  for  the  men  is  to-day?  " 

"  To-morrow,  at  midday,"  Agno  answered. 
"  Already  are  the  dogs  coming  in.  There  will  be 
at  least  fifty  of  them." 

"  Fifty  and  one,"  was  Bashti's  verdict,  as  he 
nodded  at  Jerry. 

The  priest  made  a  quick  movement  of  impulse 
to  capture  Jerry. 

"  Why  now?  "  the  chief  demanded.  "  You  will 
but  have  to  carry  him  through  the  swamp.  Let 


JERRY  235 

him  trot  back  on  his  own  legs,  and  when  he  is  be 
fore  the  canoe  house  tie  his  legs  there." 

Across  the  swamp  and  approaching  the  canoe 
house,  Jerry,  trotting  happily  at  the  heels  of  the 
two  men,  heard  the  wailing  and  sorrowing  of 
many  dogs  that  spelt  unmistakable  woe  and  pain. 
He  developed  instant  suspicion  that  was,  however, 
without  direct  apprehension  for  himself.  And  at 
that  moment,  his  ears  cocked  forward  and  his 
nose  questing  for  further  information  in  the  mat 
ter,  Bashti  seized  him  by  the  nape  of  the  neck  and 
held  him  in  the  air  while  Agno  proceeded  to  tie 
his  legs. 

No  whimper,  nor  sound,  nor  sign  of  fear,  came 
from  Jerry  —  only  choking  growls  of  ferocious 
ness,  intermingled  with  snarls  of  anger,  and  a  bel 
ligerent  up-clawing  of  hind-legs.  But  a  dog, 
clutched  by  the  neck  from  the  back,  can  never  be 
a  match  for  two  men,  gifted  with  the  intelligence 
and  deftness  of  men,  each  of  them  two-handed 
with  four  fingers  and  an  opposable  thumb  to  each 
hand. 

His  fore-legs  and  hind-legs  tied  lengthwise 
and  crosswise,  he  was  carried  head-downward  the 
short  distance  to  the  place  of  slaughter  and  cook 
ing,  and  flung  to  the  earth  in  the  midst  of  the  score 
or  more  of  dogs  similarly  tied  and  helpless.  Al- 


236  JERRY 

though  it  was  mid-afternoon,  a  number  of  them 
had  so  lain  since  early  morning  in  the  hot  sun. 
They  were  all  bush  dogs  or  wild  dogs,  and  so  small 
was  their  courage  that  their  thirst  and  physical 
pain  from  cords  drawn  too  tight  across  veins  and 
arteries,  and  their  dim  apprehension  of  the  fate 
such  treatment  foreboded,  led  them  to  whimper 
and  wail  and  howl  their  despair  and  suffering. 

The  next  thirty  hours  were  bad  hours  for  Jerry. 
The  word  had  gone  forth  immediately  that  the 
taboo  on  him  had  been  removed,  and  of  the  men 
and  boys  none  was  so  low  as  to  do  him  reverence. 
About  him,  till  night-fall,  persisted  a  circle  of 
teasers  and  tormenters.  They  harangued  him 
for  his  fall,  sneered  and  jeered  at  him,  rooted 
him  about  contemptuously  with  their  feet,  made  a 
hollow  in  the  sand  out  of  which  he  could  not  roll 
and  deposited  him  in  it  on  his  back,  his  four 
tied  legs  sticking  ignominiously  in  the  air  above 
him. 

And  all  he  could  do  was  growl  and  rage  his 
helplessness.  For,  unlike  the  other  dogs,  he 
would  not  howl  or  whimper  his  pain.  A  year  old 
now,  the  last  six  months  had  gone  far  toward  ma 
turing  him,  and  it  was  the  nature  of  his  breed  to 
be  fearless  and  stoical.  And,  much  as  he  had 
been  taught  by  his  white  masters  to  hate  and  de- 


JERRY  237 

spise  niggers,  he  learned  in  the  course  of  these 
thirty  hours  an  especially  bitter  and  undying 
hatred. 

His  torturers  stopped  at  nothing.  Even  they 
brought  Wild  Dog  and  set  him  upon  Jerry.  But 
it  was  contrary  to  Wild  Dog's  nature  to  attack 
an  enemy  that  could  not  move,  even  if  the  enemy 
was  Jerry,  who  had  so  often  bullied  him  and  rolled 
him  on  the  deck.  Had  Jerry,  with  a  broken  leg 
or  so,  still  retained  power  of  movement,  then  he 
would  have  mauled  him,  perhaps  to  death.  But 
this  utter  helplessness  was  different.  So  the  ex 
pected  show  proved  a  failure.  When  Jerry 
snarled  and  growled,  Wild  Dog  snarled  and 
growled  back  and  strutted  and  bullied  around  him, 
but  no  persuasion  of  the  blacks  could  induce  him 
to  sink  his  teeth  into  Jerry. 

The  killing  ground  before  the  canoe  house  was 
a  bedlam  of  horror.  From  time  to  time,  more 
bound  dogs  were  brought  in  and  flung  down. 
There  was  a  continuous  howling,  especially  con 
tributed  to  by  those  which  had  lain  in  the  sun  since 
early  morning  and  had  no  water.  At  times,  all 
joined  in,  the  control  of  the  quietest  breaking  down 
before  the  wave  of  excitement  and  fear  that  swept 
spasmodically  over  all  of  them.  This  howling, 
rising  and  falling,  but  never  ceasing,  continued 


238  JERRY 

throughout  the  night,  and  by  morning  all  were 
suffering  from  the  intolerable  thirst. 

The  sun,  blazing  down  upon  them  in  the  white 
sand  and  almost  parboiling  them,  brought  any 
thing  but  relief.  The  circle  of  torturers  formed 
about  Jerry  again,  and  again  was  wreaked  upon 
him  all  abusive  contempt  for  having  lost  his  taboo. 
What  drove  Jerry  the  maddest  were  not  the  blows 
and  physical  torment,  but  was  the  laughter.  No 
dog  enjoys  being  laughed  at,  and  Jerry,  least  of 
all,  could  restrain  his  wrath  when  they  jeered  him 
and  cackled  close  in  his  face. 

Although  he  had  not  howled  once,  his  snarling 
and  growling,  combined  with  his  thirst,  had 
hoarsened  his  throat  and  dried  the  mucous  mem 
branes  of  his  mouth  so  that  he  was  incapable,  ex 
cept  under  the  sheerest  provocation,  of  further 
sound.  His  tongue  hung  out  of  his  mouth,  and 
the  eight  o'clock  sun  began  slowly  to  burn  it. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  one  of  the  boys  cruelly 
outraged  him.  He  rolled  Jerry  out  of  the  hollow 
in  which  he  had  lain  all  night  on  his  back,  turned 
him  over  on  his  side,  and  presented  to  him  a  small 
calabash  filled  with  water.  Jerry  lapped  it  so 
frantically  that  not  for  half  a  minute  did  he  be 
come  aware  that  the  boy  had  squeezed  into  it  many 
hot  seeds  of  ripe  red  peppers.  The  circle  shrieked 


JERRY  239 

with  glee,  and  what  Jerry's  thirst  had  been  be 
fore  was  as  nothing  compared  with  this  new  thirst 
to  which  had  been  added  the  stinging  agony  of 
pepper. 

Next  in  event,  and  a  most  important  event  it 
was  to  prove,  came  Nalasu.  Nalasu  was  an  old 
man  of  three-score  years,  and  he  was  blind,  walk 
ing  with  a  large  staff  with  which  he  prodded  his 
path.  In  his  free  hand  he  carried  a  small  pig  by 
its  tied  legs. 

"  They  say  the  white  master's  dog  is  to  be 
eaten,"  he  said  in  the  Somo  speech.  "  Where  is 
the  white  master's  dog?  Show  him  to  me." 

Agno,  who  had  just  arrived,  stood  beside  him 
as  he  bent  over  Jerry  and  examined  him  with  his 
fingers.  Nor  did  Jerry  offer  to  snarl  or  bite,  al 
though  the  blind  man's  hands  came  within  reach 
of  his  teeth  more  than  once.  For  Jerry  sensed 
no  enmity  in  the  fingers  that  passed  so  softly  over 
him.  Next,  Nalasu  felt  over  the  pig,  and  several 
times,  as  if  calculating,  alternated  between  Jerry 
and  the  pig. 

Nalasu  stood  up  and  voiced  judgment: 

"  The  pig  is  as  small  as  the  dog.  They  are  of 
a  size,  but  the  pig  has  more  meat  on  it  for  the  eat 
ing.  Take  the  pig  and  I  shall  take  the  dog." 

"  Nay,"  said  Agno.     "  The  white  master's  dog 


24o  JERRY 

has  broken  the  taboo.  It  must  be  eaten.  Take 
any  other  dog  and  leave  the  pig.  Take  a  big 
dog." 

"  I  will  have  the  white  master's  dog,"  Nalasu 
persisted.  "  Only  the  white  master's  dog  and  no 
other." 

The  matter  was  at  a  deadlock  when  Bashti 
chanced  upon  the  scene  and  stood  listening. 

"  Take  the  dog,  Nalasu,"  he  said  finally.  "  It 
is  a  good  pig,  and  I  shall  myself  eat  it." 

"  But  he  has  broken  the  taboo,  your  great  taboo 
of  the  laying  yard,  and  must  go  to  the  eating," 
Agno  interposed  quickly. 

Too  quickly,  Bashti  thought,  while  a  vague  sus 
picion  arose  in  his  mind  of  he  knew  not  what. 

"  The  taboo  must  be  paid  in  blood  and  cook 
ing,"  Agno  continued. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Bashti.  "  I  shall  eat  the 
small  pig.  Let  its  throat  be  cut  and  its  body 
know  the  fire." 

"  I  but  speak  the  law  of  the  taboo.  Life  must 
pay  for  the  breaking." 

"  There  is  another  law,"  Bashti  grinned. 
"  Long  has  it  been,  since  ever  Somo  built  these 
walls,  that  life  may  buy  life." 

"  But  of  life  of  man  and  life  of  woman,"  Agno 
qualified. 


JERRY  241 

"  I  know  the  law,"  Bashti  held  steadily  on. 
"  Somo  made  the  law.  Never  has  it  been  said 
that  animal  life  may  not  buy  animal  life." 

"  It  has  never  been  practised,"  was  the  devil 
devil  doctor's  fling. 

"  And  for  reason  enough,"  the  old  chief  re 
torted.  "  Never  before  has  a  man  been  fool 
enough  to  give  a  pig  for  a  dog.  It  is  a  young  pig, 
and  it  is  fat  and  tender.  Take  the  dog,  Nalasu. 
Take  the  dog  now." 

But  the  devil  devil  doctor  was  not  satisfied. 

"  As  you  said,  O  Bashti,  in  your  very  great 
wisdom,  he  is  the  seed  dog  of  strength  and  cour 
age.  Let  him  be  slain.  When  he  comes  from 
the  fire,  his  body  shall  be  divided  into  many  small 
pieces  so  that  every  man  may  eat  of  him  and 
thereby  get  his  portion  of  strength  and  courage. 
Better  is  it  for  Somo  that  its  men  be  strong  and 
brave  rather  than  its  dogs." 

But  Bashti  held  no  anger  against  Jerry.  He 
had  lived  too  long  and  too  philosophically  to  lay 
blame  on  a  dog  for  breaking  a  taboo  which  it  did 
not  know.  Of  course,  dogs  often  were  slain  for 
breaking  the  taboos.  But  he  allowed  this  to  be 
done  because  the  dogs  themselves  in  nowise  in 
terested  him,  and  because  their  deaths  emphasised 
the  sacredness  of  the  taboo.  Further,  Jerry  had 


242  JERRY 

more  than  slightly  interested  him.  Often,  since 
Jerry  had  attacked  him  because  of  Van  Horn's 
head,  he  had  pondered  the  incident.  Baffling  as 
it  was,  as  all  manifestations  of  life  were  baffling,  it 
had  given  him  food  for  thought.  Then  there  was 
his  admiration  for  Jerry's  courage  and  that  inex 
plicable  something  in  him  that  prevented  him  cry 
ing  out  from  the  pain  of  the  stick.  And,  without 
thinking  of  it  as  beauty,  the  beauty  of  line  and 
colour  of  Jerry  had  insensibly  penetrated  him  with 
a  sense  of  pleasantness.  It  was  good  to  look 
upon. 

There  was  another  angle  to  Bashti's  conduct. 
He  wondered  why  his  devil  devil  doctor  so  ear 
nestly  desired  a  mere  dog's  death.  There  were 
many  dogs.  Then  why  this  particular  dog? 
That  the  weight  of  something  was  on  the  other's 
mind  was  patent,  although  what  it  was  Bashti 
could  not  gauge  —  unless  it  might  be  revenge  in 
cubated  the  day  he  had  prevented  Agno  from  eat 
ing  the  dog.  If  such  were  the  case,  it  was  a  state 
of  mind  he  could  not  tolerate  in  any  of  his  tribes- 
people.  But  whatever  was  the  motive,  guarding 
as  he  always  did  against  the  unknown,  he  thought 
it  well  to  discipline  his  priest  and  demonstrate  once 
again  whose  word  was  the  last  word  in  Somo. 
Wherefore  Bashti  replied: 


JERRY  243 

"  I  have  lived  long  and  eaten  many  pigs. 
What  man  may  dare  say  that  the  many  pigs  have 
entered  into  me  and  made  me  a  pig?  " 

He  paused  and  cast  a  challenging  eye  around 
the  circle  of  his  audience ;  but  no  man  spoke.  In 
stead,  some  men  grinned  sheepishly  and  were  rest 
less  on  their  feet,  while  Agno's  expression  adver 
tised  sturdy  unbelief  that  there  was  anything  pig- 
like  about  his  chief. 

"  I  have  eaten  much  fish,"  Bashti  continued. 
"  Never  has  one  scale  of  a  fish  grown  out  on  my 
skin.  Never  has  a  gill  appeared  on  my  throat. 
As  you  all  know,  by  the  looking,  never  have  I 
sprouted  one  fin  out  of  my  backbone.  —  Nalasu, 
take  the  dog.  —  Aga,  carry  the  pig  to  my  house. 
I  shall  eat  it  to-day.  —  Agno,  let  the  killing  of 
the  dogs  begin  so  that  the  canoe-men  shall  eat  at 
due  time." 

Then,  as  he  turned  to  go,  he  lapsed  into  beche- 
de-mer  English  and  flung  sternly  over  his  shoul 
der:  "My  word,  you  make'm  me  cross  along 
you." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AS  blind  Nalasu  slowly  plodded  away,  with 
one  hand  tapping  the  path  before  him  and 
with  the  other  carrying  Jerry  head  downward 
suspended  by  his  tied  legs,  Jerry  heard  a  sudden 
increase  in  the  wild  howling  of  the  dogs  as  the 
killing  began  and  they  realised  that  death  was 
upon  them. 

But,  unlike  the  boy  Lamai,  who  had  known  no 
better,  the  old  man  did  not  carry  Jerry  all  the  way 
to  his  house.  At  the  first  stream  pouring  down 
between  the  low  hills  of  the  rising  land,  he  paused 
and  put  Jerry  down  to  drink.  And  Jerry  knew 
only  the  delight  of  the  wet  coolness  on  his  tongue, 
all  about  his  mouth,  and  down  his  throat.  Never 
theless,  in  his  subconsciousness  was  being  planted 
the  impression  that,  kinder  than  Lamai,  than 
Agno,  than  Bashti,  this  was  the  kindest  black  he 
had  encountered  in  Somo. 

When  he  had  drunk  till  for  the  moment  he  could 
drink  no  more,  he  thanked  Nalasu  with  his  tongue 
—  not  warmly  nor  ecstatically  as  had  it  been  Skip 
per's  hand,  but  with  due  gratefulness  for  the  life- 

244 


JERRY  245 

giving  draught.  The  old  man  chuckled  in  a 
pleased  way,  rolled  Jerry's  parched  body  into  the 
water,  and,  keeping  his  head  above  the  surface, 
rubbed  the  water  into  his  dry  skin  and  let  him  lie 
there  for  long  blissful  minutes. 

From  the  stream  to  Nalasu's  house,  a  goodly 
distance,  Nalasu  still  carried  him  with  bound  legs, 
although  not  head  downward  but  clasped  in  one 
arm  against  his  chest.  His  idea  was  to  love  the 
dog  to  him.  For  Nalasu,  having  sat  in  the  lonely 
dark  for  many  years,  had  thought  far  more  about 
the  world  around  him  and  knew  it  far  better  than 
had  he  been  able  to  see  it.  For  his  own  special 
purpose  he  had  need  of  a  dog.  Several  bush  dogs 
he  had  tried,  but  they  had  shown  little  apprecia 
tion  of  his  kindness  and  had  invariably  run  away. 
The  last  had  remained  longest  because  he  had 
treated  it  with  the  greatest  kindness,  but  run  away 
it  had  before  he  had  trained  it  to  his  purpose. 
But  the  white  master's  dog,  he  had  heard,  was  dif 
ferent.  It  never  ran  away  in  fear,  while  it  was 
said  to  be  more  intelligent  than  the  dogs  of  Somo. 

The  invention  Lamai  had  made  of  tying  Jerry 
with  a  stick  had  been  noised  abroad  in  the  village, 
and  by  a  stick,  in  Nalasu's  house,  Jerry  found  him 
self  again  tied.  But  with  a  difference.  Never 
once  was  the  blind  man  impatient,  while  he  spent 


246  JERRY 

hours  each  day  in  squatting  on  his  hams  and  pet 
ting  Jerry.  Yet,  had  he  not  done  this,  Jerry,  who 
ate  his  food  and  who  was  growing  accustomed  to 
changing  his  masters,  would  have  accepted  Nalasu 
for  master.  Further,  it  was  fairly  definite  in 
Jerry's  mind,  after  the  devil  devil  doctor's  tying 
him  and  flinging  him  amongst  the  other  helpless 
dogs  on  the  killing  ground,  that  all  mastership  of 
Agno  had  ceased.  And  Jerry,  who  had  never 
been  without  a  master  since  his  first  days  in  the 
world,  felt  the  imperative  need  of  a  master. 

So  it  was,  when  the  day  came  that  the  stick  was 
untied  from  him,  that  Jerry  remained  voluntarily 
in  Nalasu's  house.  When  the  old  man  was  satis 
fied  there  would  be  no  running  away,  he  began 
Jerry's  training.  By  slow  degrees  he  advanced 
the  training  until  hours  a  day  were  devoted  to 
it. 

First  of  all  Jerry  learned  a  new  name  for  him 
self,  which  was  Bao,  and  he  was  taught  to  respond 
to  it  from  an  ever  increasing  distance  no  matter 
how  softly  it  was  uttered,  and  Nalasu  continued 
to  utter  it  more  softly  until  it  no  longer  was  a 
spoken  word  but  a  whisper.  Jerry's  ears  were 
keen,  but  Nalasu's,  from  long  use,  were  almost 
as  keen. 

Further,  Jerry's  owrn   hearing  was  trained  to 


JERRY  247 

still  greater  acuteness.  Hours  at  a  time,  sitting 
by  Nalasu  or  standing  apart  from  him,  he  was 
taught  to  catch  the  slightest  sounds  or  rustlings 
from  the  bush.  Still  further,  he  was  taught  to  dif 
ferentiate  between  the  bush  noises  and  between  the 
ways,  he  growled  warnings  to  Nalasu.  If  a  rustle 
took  place  that  Jerry  identified  as  a  pig  or  a 
chicken,  he  did  not  growl  at  all.  If  he  did  not 
identify  the  noise,  he  growled  fairly  softly.  But 
if  the  noise  were  made  by  a  man  or  boy  who 
moved  softly  and  therefore  suspiciously,  Jerry 
learned  to  growl  loudly;  if  the  noise  were  loud  and 
careless  then  Jerry's  growl  was  soft. 

It  never  entered  Jerry's  mind  to  question  why 
he  was  taught  all  this.  He  merely  did  it  because 
it  was  this  latest  master's  desire  that  he  should. 
All  this,  and  much  more,  at  a  cost  of  interminable 
time  and  patience,  Nalasu  taught  him,  and  much 
more  he  taught  him,  increasing  his  vocabulary  so 
that,  at  a  distance,  they  could  hold  quick  and 
sharply  definite  conversations. 

Thus,  at  fifty  feet  away,  Jerry  would  "  Whuff !  " 
softly  the  information  that  there  was  a  noise  he 
did  not  know;  and  Nalasu,  with  different  sibi- 
lances,  would  hiss  to  him  to  stand  still,  to  whuff 
more  softly,  or  to  keep  silent,  or  to  come  to  him 
noiselessly,  or  to  go  into  the  bush  and  investigate 


248  JERRY 

the  source  of  the  strange  noise,  or,  barking  loudly, 
to  rush  and  attack  it. 

Perhaps,  if  from  the  opposite  direction  Nalasu's 
sharp  ears  alone  caught  a  strange  sound,  he  would 
ask  Jerry  if  he  had  heard  it.  And  Jerry,  alert  to 
his  toes  to  listen,  by  an  alteration  in  the  quantity  or 
quality  of  his  whuff,  would  tell  Nalasu  that  he  did 
not  hear;  next,  that  he  did  hear;  and,  perhaps 
finally,  that  it  was  a  strange  dog,  or  a  woods  rat, 
or  a  man,  or  a  boy  —  all  in  the  softest  of  sounds 
that  were  scarcely  more  than  breath-exhalations, 
all  monosyllables,  a  veritable  shorthand  of  speech. 

Nalasu  was  a  strange  old  man.  He  lived  by 
himself  in  a  small  grass  house  on  the  edge  of  the 
village.  The  nearest  house  was  quite  a  distance 
away,  while  his  own  stood  in  a  clearing  in  the  thick 
jungle  which  approached  nowhere  nearer  than 
sixty  feet.  Also,  this  cleared  space  he  kept  con 
tinually  free  from  the  fast-growing  vegetation. 
Apparently  he  had  no  friends.  At  least  no  visi 
tors  ever  came  to  his  dwelling.  Years  had  passed 
since  he  discouraged  the  last.  Further,  he  had  no 
kindred.  His  wife  was  long  since  dead,  and  his 
three  sons,  not  yet  married,  in  a  foray  beyond  the 
bounds  of  Somo  had  lost  their  heads  in  the  jungle 
runways  of  the  higher  hills  and  been  devoured  by 
their  bushman  slayers. 


JERRY  249 

For  a  blind  man  he  was  very  busy.  He  asked 
favour  of  no  one  and  was  self-supporting.  In  his 
house-clearing  he  grew  yams,  sweet  potatoes,  and 
taro.  In  another  clearing  —  because  it  was  his 
policy  to  have  no  trees  close  to  his  house  —  he 
had  plantains,  bananas,  and  half  a  dozen  cocoanut 
palms.  Fruits  and  vegetables  he  exchanged  down 
in  the  village  for  meat  and  fish  and  tobacco. 

He  spent  a  good  portion  of  his  time  on  Jerry's 
education,  and,  on  occasion,  would  make  bows  and 
arrows  that  were  so  esteemed  by  his  tribespeople 
as  to  command  a  steady  sale.  Scarcely  a  day 
passed  in  which  he  did  not  himself  practise  with 
bow  and  arrow.  He  shot  only  by  direction  of 
sound;  and  whenever  a  noise  or  rustle  was  heard 
in  the  jungle,  and  when  Jerry  had  informed  him 
of  its  nature,  he  would  shoot  an  arrow  at  it. 
Then  it  was  Jerry's  duty  cautiously  to  retrieve  the 
arrow  had  it  missed  the  mark. 

A  curious  thing  about  Nalasu  was  that  he  slept 
no  more  than  three  hours  in  the  twenty-four,  that 
he  never  slept  at  night,  and  that  his  brief  daylight 
sleep  never  took  place  in  the  house.  Hidden  in 
the  thickest  part  of  the  neighbouring  jungle  was  a 
sort  of  nest  to  which  led  no  path.  He  never  en 
tered  nor  left  by  the  same  way,  so  that  the  tropic 
growth  on  the  rich  soil,  being  so  rarely  trod  upon, 


250  JERRY 

ever  obliterated  the  slightest  sign  of  his  having 
passed  that  way.  Whenever  he  slept,  Jerry  was 
trained  to  remain  on  guard  and  never  to  go  to 
sleep. 

Reason  enough  there  was  and  to  spare  for 
Nalasu's  infinite  precaution.  The  oldest  of  his 
three  sons  had  slain  one,  Ao,  in  a  quarrel.  Ao 
had  been  one  of  six  brothers  of  the  family  of  Anno 
which  dwelt  in  one  of  the  upper  villages.  Accord 
ing  to  Somo  law,  the  Anno  family  was  privileged 
to  collect  the  blood-debt  from  the  Nalasu  family, 
but  had  been  balked  of  it  by  the  deaths  of  Nalasu's 
three  sons  in  the  bush.  And,  since  the  Somo  code 
was  a  life  for  a  life,  and  since  Nalasu  alone  re 
mained  alive  of  his  family,  it  was  well  known 
throughout  the  tribe  that  the  Annos  would  never 
be  content  until  they  had  taken  the  blind  man's 
life. 

But  Nalasu  had  been  famous  as  a  great  fighter, 
as  well  as  having  been  the  progenitor  of  three  such 
warlike  sons.  Twice  had  the  Annos  sought  to 
collect,  the  first  time  while  Nalasu  still  retained 
his  eyesight.  Nalasu  had  discovered  their  trap, 
circled  about  it,  and  in  the  rear  encountered  and 
slain  Anno  himself,  the  father,  thus  doubling  the 
blood-debt. 

Then  had  come  his  accident.     While  refilling 


JERRY  251 

many-times  used  Snider  cartridges,  an  explosion 
of  black  powder  put  out  both  his  eyes.  Immedi 
ately  thereafter,  while  he  sat  nursing  his  wounds, 
the  Annos  had  descended  upon  him  —  just  what 
he  had  expected  and  for  which  he  had  made  due 
preparation.  That  night  two  uncles  and  another 
brother  stepped  on  poisoned  thorns  and  died  hor 
ribly.  Thus  the  sum  of  lives  owing  the  Annos 
had  increased  to  five,  with  only  a  blind  man  from 
whom  to  collect. 

Thenceforth  the  Annos  had  feared  the  thorns 
too  greatly  to  dare  again,  although  ever  their 
vindictiveness  smouldered  and  they  lived  in  hope 
of  the  day  when  Nalasu's  head  should  adorn  their 
ridgepole.  In  the  meantime  the  state  of  affairs 
was  not  that  of  a  truce  but  of  a  stalemate.  The 
old  man  could  not  proceed  against  them,  and  they 
were  afraid  to  proceed  against  him.  Nor  did  the 
day  come  until  after  Jerry's  adoption,  when  one 
of  the  Annos  made  an  invention  the  like  of  which 
had  never  been  known  in  all  Malaita. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MEANWHILE  the  months  slipped  by,  the 
southeast  trade  blew  itself  out,  the  mon 
soon  had  begun  to  breathe,  and  Jerry  added  to 
himself  six  months  of  time,  weight,  stature,  and 
thickness  of  bone.  An  easy  time  his  half-year 
with  the  blind  man  had  been,  despite  the  fact  that 
Nalasu  was  a  rigid  disciplinarian  who  insisted  on 
training  Jerry  for  longer  hours,  day  in  and  day 
out,  than  fall  to  the  lot  of  most  dogs.  Never 
did  Jerry  receive  from  him  a  blow,  never  a  harsh 
word.  This  man,  who  had  slain  four  of  the 
Annos,  three  of  them  after  he  had  gone  blind,  who 
had  slain  still  more  men  in  his  savage  youth,  never 
raised  his  voice  in  anger  to  Jerry  and  ruled  him  by 
nothing  severer  than  the  gentlest  of  chidings. 

Mentally,  the  persistent  education  Jerry  re 
ceived,  in  this  period  of  late  puppyhood,  fixed  in 
him  increased  brain  power  for  all  his  life.  Pos 
sibly  no  dog  in  all  the  world  had  ever  been  so 
vocal  as  he,  and  for  three  reasons :  his  own  intelli 
gence,  the  genius  for  teaching  that  was  Nalasu's, 
and  the  long  hours  devoted  to  the  teaching. 

252 


JERRY  253 

His  shorthand  vocabulary,  for  a  dog,  was 
prodigious.  Almost  might  it  be  said  that  he  and 
the  man  could  talk  by  the  hour,  although  few  and 
simple  were  the  abstractions  they  could  talk;  very 
little  of  the  immediate  concrete  past,  and  scarcely 
anything  of  the  immediate  concrete  future,  entered 
into  their  conversations.  Jerry  could  no  more 
tell  him  of  Meringe,  nor  of  the  Arangi,  than  could 
he  tell  him  of  the  great  love  he  had  borne  Skipper, 
or  of  his  reason  for  hating  Bashti.  By  the  same 
token,  Nalasu  could  not  tell  Jerry  of  the  blood- 
feud  with  the  Annos,  nor  of  how  he  had  lost  his 
eyesight. 

Practically  all  their  conversation  was  confined  to 
the  instant  present,  although  they  could  compass 
a  little  of  the  very  immediate  past.  Nalasu 
would  give  Jerry  a  series  of  instructions,  such  as, 
going  on  a  scout  by  himself,  to  go  to  the  nest,  then 
circle  about  it  widely,  to  continue  to  the  other 
clearing  where  were  the  fruit  trees,  to  cross  the 
jungle  to  the  main  path,  to  proceed  down  the 
main  path  toward  the  village  till  he  came  to  the 
great  banyan  tree,  and  then  to  return  along  the 
small  path  to  Nalasu  and  Nalasu's  house.  All  of 
which  Jerry  would  carry  out  to  the  letter,  and, 
arrived  back,  would  make  report.  As  thus:  at 
the  nest  nothing  unusual  save  that  a  buzzard  was 


254  JERRY 

near  it;  in  the  other  clearing  three  cocoanuts  had 
fallen  to  the  ground  —  for  Jerry  could  count  un 
erringly  up  to  five ;  between  the  other  clearing  and 
the  main  path  were  four  pigs ;  along  the  main  path 
he  had  passed  a  dog,  more  than  five  women,  and 
two  children;  and  on  the  small  path  home  he  had 
noted  a  cockatoo  and  two  boys. 

But  he  could  not  tell  Nalasu  his  states  of  mind 
and  heart  that  prevented  him  from  being  fully 
contented  in  his  present  situation.  For  Nalasu 
was,  not  a  white  god,  but  only  a  mere  nigger  god. 
And  Jerry  hated  and  despised  all  niggers  save  for 
the  two  exceptions  of  Lamai  and  Nalasu.  He 
tolerated  them,  and,  for  Nalasu,  had  even  de 
veloped  a  placid  and  sweet  affection.  Love  him 
he  did  not  and  could  not. 

At  the  best,  they  were  only  second  rate  gods, 
and  he  could  not  forget  the  great  white  gods  such 
as  Skipper  and  Mister  Haggin,  and,  of  the  same 
breed,  Derby  and  Bob.  They  were  something 
else,  something  other,  something  better  than  all 
this  black  savagery  in  which  he  lived.  They  were 
above  and  beyond,  in  an  unattainable  paradise 
which  he  vividly  remembered,  for  which  he 
yearned,  but  to  which  he  did  not  know  the  way, 
and  which,  dimly  sensing  the  ending  that  comes  to 
all  things,  might  have  passed  into  the  ultimate 


JERRY  255 

nothingness  which  had  already  overtaken  Skipper 
and  the  Arangi. 

In  vain  did  the  old  man  play  to  gain  Jerry's 
heart  of  love.  He  could  not  bid  against  Jerry's 
many  reservations  and  memories,  although  he  did 
win  absolute  faithfulness  and  loyalty.  Not  pas 
sionately,  as  he  would  have  fought  to  the  death 
for  Skipper,  but  devotedly  would  he  have  fought 
to  the  death  for  Nalasu.  And  the  old  man  never 
dreamed  but  what  he  had  won  all  of  Jerry's  heart. 

Came  the  day  of  the  Annos,  when  one  of  them 
made  the  invention,  which  was  thickplaited  sandals 
to  armour  the  soles  of  their  feet  against  the  poi 
soned  thorns  with  which  Nalasu  had  taken  three 
of  their  lives.  The  day,  in  truth,  was  the  night, 
a  black  night,  a  night  so  black  under  a  cloud- 
palled  sky  that  a  tree-trunk  could  not  be  seen  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  beyond  one's  nose.  And  the 
Annos  descended  on  Nalasu's  clearing,  a  dozen  of 
them,  armed  with  Sniders,  horse  pistols,  toma 
hawks  and  war  clubs,  walking  gingerly,  despite 
their  thick  sandals,  because  of  fear  of  the  thorns 
which  Nalasu  no  longer  planted. 

Jerry,  sitting  between  Nalasu's  knees  and  nod 
ding  sleepily,  gave  the  first  warning  to  Nalasu, 
who  sat  outside  his  door,  wide-eyed,  ear-strung, 


256  JERRY 

as  he  had  sat  through  all  the  nights  of  the  many 
years.  He  listened  still  more  tensely  through 
long  minutes  in  which  he  heard  nothing,  at  the 
same  time  whispering  to  Jerry  for  information 
and  commanding  him  to  be  soft-spoken;  and  Jerry, 
with  whuffs  and  whiffs  and  all  the  shorthand 
breath-exhalations  of  speech  he  had  been  taught, 
told  him  that  men  approached,  many  men,  more 
men  than  five. 

Nalasu  reached  the  bow  beside  him,  strung  an 
arrow,  and  waited.  At  last  his  own  ears  caught 
the  slightest  of  rustlings,  now  here,  now  there,  ad 
vancing  upon  him  in  the  circle  of  the  compass. 
Still  speaking  for  softness,  he  demanded  verifica 
tion  from  Jerry,  whose  neck  hair  rose  bristling 
under  Nalasu's  sensitive  fingers,  and  who,  by  this 
time,  was  reading  the  night  air  with  his  nose  as 
well  as  his  ears.  And  Jerry,  as  softly  as  Nalasu, 
informed  him  again  that  it  was  men,  many  men, 
more  men  than  five. 

With  the  patience  of  age  Nalasu  sat  on  without 
movement,  until,  close  at  hand,  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  jungle,  sixty  feet  away,  he  located  a  par 
ticular  noise  of  a  particular  man.  He  stretched 
the  bow,  loosed  the  arrow,  and  was  rewarded  by 
a  gasp  and  a  groan  strangely  commingled.  First 
he  restrained  Jerry  from  retrieving  the  arrow, 


JERRY  257 

which  he  knew  had  gone  home ;  and  next  he  fitted 
a  fresh  arrow  to  the  bowstring. 

Fifteen  minutes  of  silence  passed,  the  blind  man 
as  if  carven  of  stone,  the  dog,  trembling  with 
eagerness  under  the  articulate  touch  of  his  fingers, 
obeying  the  bidding  to  make  no  sound.  For 
Jerry,  as  well  as  Nalasu,  knew  that  death  rustled 
and  lurked  in  the  encircling  dark.  Again  came  a 
softness  of  movement,  nearer  than  before;  but 
the  sped  arrow  missed.  They  heard  its  impact 
against  a  tree  trunk  beyond  and  a  confusion  of 
small  sounds  caused  by  the  target's  hasty  retreat. 
Next,  after  a  time  of  silence,  Nalasu  told  Jerry 
silently  to  retrieve  the  arrow.  He  had  been  well- 
trained  and  long  trained,  for  with  no  sound  even 
to  Nalasu's  ears  keener  than  seeing  men's  ears,  he 
followed  the  direction  of  the  arrow's  impact 
against  the  tree  and  brought  the  arrow  back  in  his 
mouth. 

Again  Nalasu  waited,  until  the  rustlings  of  a 
fresh  drawing-in  of  the  circle  could  be  heard, 
whereupon  Nalasu,  Jerry  accompanying  him, 
picked  up  all  his  arrows  and  moved  soundlessly 
half  way  around  the  circle.  Even  as  they  moved, 
a  Snider  exploded  that  was  aimed  in  the  general 
direction  of  the  spot  just  vacated. 

Thus  the  blind  man  and  the  dog,  from  midnight 


258  JERRY 

to  dawn,  successfully  fought  off  twelve  men 
equipped  with  the  thunder  of  gunpowder  and  the 
wide-spreading,  deep-penetrating,  mushroom  bul 
lets  of  soft  lead.  And  the  blind  man  defended 
himself  only  with  a  bow  and  a  hundred  arrows. 
He  discharged  many  hundreds  of  arrows,  which 
Jerry  retrieved  for  him  and  which  he  discharged 
over  and  over.  But  Jerry  aided  valiantly  and 
well,  adding  to  Nalasu's  acute  hearing  his  own 
acuter  hearing,  circling  noiselessly  about  the  house 
and  reporting  where  the  attack  pressed  closest. 

Much  of  their  precious  powder  the  Annos 
wasted,  for  the  affair  was  like  a  game  of  invisible 
ghosts.  Never  was  anything  seen  save  the  flashes 
of  the  rifles.  Never  did  they  see  Jerry,  although 
they  became  quickly  aware  of  his  movements  close 
to  them  as  he  searched  out  the  arrows.  Once,  as 
one  of  them  felt  for  an  arrow  which  had  narrowly 
missed  him,  he  encountered  Jerry's  back  with  his 
hand  and  acknowledged  the  sharp  slash  of  Jerry's 
teeth  with  a  wild  yell  of  terror.  They  tried  firing 
at  the  twang  of  Nalasu's  bowstring,  but  every 
time  Nalasu  fired  he  instantly  changed  position. 
Several  times,  warned  of  Jerry's  nearness,  they 
fired  at  him,  and,  once  even,  was  his  nose  slightly 
powder-burned. 

When  day  broke,  in  the  quick  tropic  grey  that 


JERRY  259 

marks  the  leap  from  dark  to  sun,  the  Annos  re 
treated,  while  Nalasu,  withdrawn  from  the  light 
into  his  house,  still  possessed  eighty  arrows, 
thanks  to  Jerry.  The  net  result  to  Nalasu  was 
one  dead  man  and  no  telling  how  many  arrow- 
pricked  wounded  men  who  dragged  themselves 
away. 

And  half  the  day  Nalasu  crouched  over  Jerry, 
fondling  and  caressing  him  for  what  he  had  done. 
Then  he  went  abroad,  Jerry  with  him,  and  told  of 
the  battle.  Bashti  paid  him  a  visit  ere  the  day 
was  done,  and  talked  with  him  earnestly. 

"  As  an  old  man  to  an  old  man,  I  talk,"  was 
Bashti's  beginning.  "  I  am  older  than  you,  O 
Nalasu;  I  have  ever  been  unafraid.  Yet  never 
have  I  been  braver  than  you.  I  would  that  every 
man  of  the  tribe  were  as  brave  as  you.  Yet  do 
you  give  me  great  sorrow.  Of  what  worth  are 
your  courage  and  cunning,  when  you  have  no  seed 
to  make  your  courage  and  cunning  live  again?  " 

"  I  am  an  old  man,"  Nalasu  began. 

"  Not  so  old  as  I  am,"  Bashti  interrupted. 
"  Not  too  old  to  marry  so  that  your  seed  will  add 
strength  to  the  tribe." 

[<  I  was  married,  and  long  married,  and  I 
fathered  three  brave  sons.  But  they  are  dead. 
I  shall  not  live  so  long  as  you.  I  think  of  my 


260  JERRY 

young  days  as  pleasant  dreams  remembered  after 
sleep.  More  I  think  of  death,  and  the  end.  Of 
marriage  I  think  not  at  all.  I  am  too  old  to 
marry.  I  am  old  enough  to  make  ready  to  die, 
and  a  great  curiousness  have  I  about  what  will 
happen  to  me  when  I  am  dead.  Will  I  be  forever 
dead?  Will  I  live  again  in  a  land  of  dreams  — 
a  shadow  of  a  dream  myself  that  will  still  re 
member  the  days  when  I  lived  in  the  warm  world, 
the  quick  juices  of  hunger  in  my  mouth,  in  the 
chest  of  the  body  of  me  the  love  of  woman?  " 

Bashti  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I,  too,  have  thought  much  on  the  matter,"  he 
said.  "  Yet  do  I  arrive  nowhere.  I  do  not 
know.  You  do  not  know.  We  will  not  know  un 
til  we  are  dead,  if  it  happens  that  we  know  any 
thing  when  what  we  are  we  no  longer  are.  But 
this  we  know,  you  and  I :  the  tribe  lives.  The 
tribe  never  dies.  Wherefore,  if  there  be  meaning 
at  all  to  our  living,  we  must  make  the  tribe  strong. 
Your  work  in  the  tribe  is  not  done.  You  must 
marry  so  that  your  cunning  and  your  courage  live 
after  you.  I  have  a  wife  for  you  —  nay,  two 
wives,  for  your  days  are  short  and  I  shall  surely 
live  to  see  you  hang  with  my  fathers  from  the 
canoe-house  ridgepole." 

"  I  will  not  pay  for  a  wife,"  Nalasu  protested. 


JERRY  261 

"  I  will  not  pay  for  any  wife.  I  would  not  pay  a 
stick  of  tobacco  or  a  cracked  cocoanut  for  the  best 
woman  in  Somo." 

"  Worry  not,"  Bashti  went  on  placidly.  "  I 
shall  pay  for  you  the  price  of  the  wife,  of  the  two 
wives.  There  is  Bubu.  For  half  a  case  of  to 
bacco  shall  I  buy  her  for  you.  She  is  broad  and 
square,  round-legged,  broad-hipped,  with  gener 
ous  breasts  of  richness.  There  is  Nena.  Her 
father  sets  a  stiff  price  upon  her  —  a  whole  case 
of  tobacco.  I  will  buy  her  for  you  as  well.  Your 
time  is  short.  We  must  hurry." 

"  I  will  not  marry,"  the  old  blind  man  pro 
claimed  hysterically." 

u  You  will.     I  have  spoken." 

"  No,  I  say,  and  say  again,  no,  no,  no,  no. 
Wives  are  nuisances.  They  are  young  things,  and 
their  heads  are  filled  with  foolishness.  Their 
tongues  are  loose  with  idleness  of  speech.  I  am 
old,  I  am  quiet  in  my  ways,  the  fires  of  life  have 
departed  from  me,  I  prefer  to  sit  alone  in  the  dark 
and  think.  Chattering  young  things  about  me, 
with  nothing  but  foam  and  spume  in  their  heads, 
on  their  tongues,  would  drive  me  mad.  Of  a 
surety  they  would  drive  me  mad  —  so  mad  that  I 
will  spit  into  every  clam  shell,  make  faces  at  the 
moon,  and  bite  my  veins  and  howl." 


262  JERRY 

"  And  if  you  do,  what  of  it?  So  long  as  your 
seed  does  not  perish.  I  shall  pay  for  the  wives  to 
their  fathers  and  send  them  to  you  in  three  days." 

"  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them,"  Nalasu 
asserted  wildly. 

"  You  will,"  Bashti  insisted  calmly.  "  Because 
if  you  do  not  you  will  have  to  pay  me.  It  will  be 
a  sore,  hard  debt.  I  will  have  every  joint  of  you 
unhinged  so  that  you  will  be  like  a  jellyfish,  like  a 
fat  pig  with  the  bones  removed,  and  I  will  then 
stake  you  out  in  the  midmost  centre  of  the  dog- 
killing  ground  to  swell  in  pain  under  the  sun. 
And  what  is  left  of  you  I  shall  fling  to  the  dogs  to 
eat.  Your  seed  shall  not  perish  out  of  Somo.  I, 
Bashti,  so  tell  you.  In  three  days  I  shall  send  to 
you  your  two  wives.  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  and  a  long  silence  fell  upon  them. 

"Well?"  Bashti  reiterated.  "It  is  wives  or 
staking  out  unhinged  in  the  sun.  You  choose,  but 
think  well  before  you  choose  the  unhinging." 

"  At  my  age,  with  all  the  vexations  of  young- 
ness  so  far  behind  me !  "  Nalasu  complained. 

"  Choose.  You  will  find  there  is  vexation,  and 
liveliness  and  much  of  it,  in  the  centre  of  the  dog- 
killing  yard  when  the  sun  cooks  your  sore  joints 
till  thr  grease  of  the  leanness  of  you  bubbles  like 
the  tendei  fat  of  a  cooked  sucking  pig." 


JERRY  263 

"  Then  send  me  the  wives,"  Nalasu  managed 
to  utter  after  a  long  pause.  "  But  send  them  in 
three  days,  not  in  two,  nor  to-morrow. " 

"  It  is  well,"  Bashti  nodded  gravely.  "  You 
have  lived  at  all  only  because  of  those  before  you, 
now  long  in  the  dark,  who  worked  so  that  the 
tribe  might  live  and  you  might  come  to  be.  You 
are.  They  paid  the  price  for  you.  It  is  your 
debt.  You  came  into  being  with  this  debt  upon 
you.  You  will  pay  the  debt  before  you  pass  out 
of  being.  It  is  the  law.  It  is  very  well." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AND  had  Bashti  hastened  delivery  of  the 
wives  by  one  day,  or  by  even  two  days, 
Nalasu  would  have  entered  the  feared  purgatory 
of  matrimony.  But  Bashti  kept  his  word,  and  on 
the  third  day  was  too  busy,  with  a  more  momen 
tous  problem,  to  deliver  Bubu  and  Nena  to  the 
blind  old  man  who  apprehensively  waited  their 
coming.  For  the  morning  of  the  third  day  all  the 
summits  of  leeward  Malaita  smoked  into  speech. 
A  warship  was  on  the  coast  —  so  the  tale  ran;  a 
big  warship  that  was  heading  in  through  the  reef 
islands  at  Langa  Langa.  The  tale  grew.  The 
warship  was  not  stopping  at  Langa  Langa.  The 
warship  was  not  stopping  at  Binu.  It  was  direct 
ing  its  course  toward  Somo. 

Nalasu,  blind,  could  not  see  this  smoke  speech 
written  in  the  air.  Because  of  the  isolation  of  his 
house,  no  one  came  and  told  him.  His  first  warn 
ing  was  when  shrill  voices  of  women,  cries  of  chil 
dren,  and  wailings  of  babes  in  nameless  fear  came 
to  him  from  the  main  path  that  led  from  the  vil 
lage  to  the  upland  boundaries  of  Somo.  He  read 

264 


JERRY  265 

only  fear  and  panic  from  the  sounds,  deduced  that 
the  village  was  fleeing  to  its  mountain  fastnesses, 
but  did  not  know  the  cause  of  the  flight. 

He  called  Jerry  to  him  and  instructed  him  to 
scout  to  the  great  banyan  tree,  where  Nalasu's 
path  and  the  main  path  joined,  and  to  observe  and 
report.  And  Jerry  sat  under  the  banyan  tree 
and  observed  the  flight  of  all  Somo.  Men, 
women,  and  children,  the  young  and  the  aged, 
babes  at  breast  and  patriarchs  leaning  on  sticks 
and  staffs  passed  before  his  eyes,  betraying  the 
greatest  haste  and  alarm.  The  village  dogs  were 
as  frightened,  whimpering  and  whining  as  they 
ran.  And  the  contagion  of  terror  was  strong 
upon  Jerry.  He  knew  the  prod  of  impulse  to  join 
in  this  rush  away  from  some  unthinkably  catas 
trophic  event  that  impended  and  that  stirred  his 
intuitive  apprehensions  of  death.  But  he  mas 
tered  the  impulse  with  his  sense  of  loyalty  to  the 
blind  man  who  had  fed  him  and  caressed  him  for 
a  long  six  months. 

Back  with  Nalasu,  sitting  between  his  knees,  he 
made  his  report.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
count  more  than  five,  although  he  knew  the  flee 
ing  population  numbered  many  times  more  than 
five.  So  he  signified  five  men,  and  more;  five 
women,  and  more;  five  children,  and  more;  five 


266  JERRY 

babies,  and  more;  five  dogs,  and  more  —  even  of 
pigs  did  he  announce  five  and  more.  Nalasu's 
ears  told  him  that  it  was  many,  many  times  more, 
and  he  asked  for  names.  Jerry  knew  the  names 
of  Bashti,  of  Agno,  and  of  Lamai,  and  Lumai. 
He  did  not  pronounce  them  with  the  slightest  of 
resemblance  to  their  customary  soundings,  but  pro 
nounced  them  in  the  whiff-whuff  of  shorthand 
speech  that  Nalasu  had  taught  him. 

Nalasu  named  over  many  other  names  that 
Jerry  knew  by  ear  but  could  not  himself  evoke  in 
sound,  and  he  answered  yes  to  most  of  them  by 
simultaneously  nodding  his  head  and  advancing 
his  right  paw.  To  some  names  he  remained  with 
out  movement  in  token  that  he  did  not  know  them. 
And  to  other  names,  which  he  recognised  but 
the  owners  of  which  he  had  not  seen,  he  answered 
no  by  advancing  his  left  paw. 

And  Nalasu,  beyond  knowing  that  something 
terrible  was  impending  —  something  horribly 
more  terrible  than  any  foray  of  neighbouring  salt 
water  tribes,  which  Somo,  behind  her  walls,  could 
easily  fend  off,  divined  that  it  was  the  long-ex 
pected  punitive  man-of-war.  Despite  his  three 
score  years,  he  had  never  experienced  a  village 
shelling.  He  had  heard  vague  talk  of  what  had 
happened  in  the  matter  of  shell-fire  in  other  vil- 


JERRY  267 

lages,  but  he  had  no  conception  of  it  save  that  it 
must  be  bullets  on  a  larger  scale  than  Snider  bul 
lets  that  could  be  fired  correspondingly  longer  dis 
tances  through  the  air. 

But  it  was  given  to  him  to  know  shell-fire  before 
he  died.  Bashti,  who  had  long  waited  the  cruiser 
that  was  to  avenge  the  destruction  of  the  Arangi 
and  the  taking  of  the  heads  of  the  two  white  men, 
and  who  had  long  calculated  the  damage  to  be 
wrought,  had  given  the  command  to  his  people  to 
flee  to  the  mountains.  First  in  the  vanguard, 
borne  by  a  dozen  young  men,  went  his  mat- 
wrapped  parcels  of  heads.  The  last  slow  trailers 
in  the  rear  of  the  exodus  were  just  passing,  and 
Nalasu,  his  bow  and  his  eighty  arrows  clutched  to 
him,  Jerry  at  his  heels,  made  his  first  step  to  fol 
low,  when  the  air  above  him  was  rent  by  a  pro- 
digiousness  of  sound. 

Nalasu  sat  down  abruptly.  It  was  his  first 
shell,  and  it  was  a  thousand  times  more  terrible 
than  he  had  imagined.  It  was  a  rip-snorting,  sky- 
splitting  sound  as  of  a  cosmic  fabric  being  torn 
asunder  between  the  hands  of  some  powerful  god. 
For  all  the  world  it  was  like  the  roughest  tearing 
across  of  sheets  that  were  thick  as  blankets,  that 
were  broad  as  the  earth  and  wide  as  the  sky. 

Not  only  did  he  sit  down  just  outside  his  door, 


268  JERRY 

but  he  crouched  his  head  to  his  knees  and  shielded 
it  with  the  arch  of  his  arms.  And  Jerry,  who  had 
never  heard  shell-fire,  much  less  imagined  what  it 
was  like,  was  impressed  with  the  awfulness  of  it. 
It  was  to  him  a  natural  catastrophe  such  as  had 
happened  to  the  Arangi  when  she  was  flung  down 
reeling  on  her  side  by  the  shouting  wind.  But, 
true  to  his  nature,  he  did  not  crouch  down  under 
the  shriek  of  that  first  shell.  On  the  contrary,  he 
bristled  his  hair  and  snarled  up  with  menacing 
teeth  at  whatever  the  thing  was  which  was  so 
enormously  present  and  yet  invisible  to  his  eyes. 

Nalasu  crouched  closer  when  the  shell  burst  be 
yond,  and  Jerry  snarled  and  rippled  his  hair 
afresh.  Each  repeated  his  actions  with  each  fresh 
shell,  for,  while  they  screamed  no  more  loudly, 
they  burst  in  the  jungle  more  closely.  And 
Nalasu,  who  had  lived  a  long  life  most  bravely  in 
the  midst  of  perils  he  had  known,  was  destined  to 
die  a  coward  out  of  his  fear  of  the  thing  unknown, 
the  chemically  propelled  missile  of  the  white  mas 
ters.  As  the  dropping  shells  burst  nearer  and 
nearer,  what  final  self-control  he  possessed  left 
him.  Such  was  his  utter  panic  that  he  might  well 
have  bitten  his  veins  and  howled.  With  a  lunatic 
scream,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  rushed  inside  the 
house  as  if  forsooth  its  grass  thatch  could  protect 


JERRY  269 

his  head  from  such  huge  projectiles.  He  collided 
with  the  door-jamb,  and,  ere  Jerry  could  follow 
him,  whirled  around  in  a  part  circle  into  the  cen 
tre  of  the  floor  just  in  time  to  receive  the  next  shell 
squarely  upon  his  head. 

Jerry  had  just  gained  the  doorway  when  the 
shell  exploded.  The  house  went  into  flying  frag 
ments,  and  Nalasu  flew  into  fragments  with  it. 
Jerry,  in  the  doorway,  caught  in  the  out-draught 
of  the  explosion,  was  flung  a  score  of  feet  away. 
All  in  the  same  fraction  of  an  instant,  earthquake, 
tidal  wave,  volcanic  eruption,  the  thunder  of  the 
heavens  and  the  fire-flashing  of  an  electric  bolt 
from  the  sky  smote  him  and  smote  consciousness 
out  of  him. 

He  had  no  conception  of  how  long  he  lay. 
Five  minutes  passed  before  his  legs  made  their 
first  spasmodic  movements,  and,  as  he  stumbled  to 
his  feet  and  rocked  giddily,  he  had  no  thought  of 
the  passage  of  time.  He  had  no  thought  about 
time  at  all.  As  a  matter  of  course,  his  own  idea, 
on  which  he  proceeded  to  act  without  being  aware 
of  it,  was  that,  a  part  of  a  second  before,  he  had 
been  struck  a  terrible  blow  magnified  incalculable 
times  beyond  the  blow  of  a  stick  at  a  nigger's 
hands. 

His  throat  and  lungs  filled  with  the  pungent 


270  JERRY 

stifling  smoke  of  powder,  his  nostrils  with  earth 
and  dust,  he  frantically  wheezed  and  sneezed, 
leaping  about,  falling  drunkenly,  leaping  into  the 
air  again,  staggering  on  his  hind-legs,  dabbing  with 
his  fore-paws  at  his  nose  head  downward  between 
his  fore-legs,  and  even  rubbing  his  nose  into  the 
ground.  He  had  no  thought  for  anything  save  to 
remove  the  biting  pain  from  his  nose  and  mouth, 
the  suffocation  from  his  lungs. 

By  a  miracle  he  had  escaped  being  struck  by  the 
flying  splinters  of  iron,  and,  thanks  to  his  strong 
heart,  had  escaped  being  killed  by  the  shock  of  the 
explosion.  Not  until  the  end  of  five  minutes  of 
mad  struggling,  in  which  he  behaved  for  all  the 
world  like  a  beheaded  chicken,  did  he  find  life 
tolerable  again.  The  maximum  of  stifling  and  of 
agony  passed,  and,  although  he  was  still  weak  and 
giddy,  he  tottered  in  the  direction  of  the  house 
and  of  Nalasu.  And  there  was  no  house  and  no, 
Nalasu  —  only  a  debris  intermingled  of  both. 

While  the  shells  continued  to  shriek  and  ex 
plode,  now  near,  now  far,  Jerry  investigated  the 
happening.  As  surely  as  the  house  wa%gone,  just 
as  surely  was  Nalasu  gone.  Upon  both  had  de 
scended  the  ultimate  nothingness.  All  the  imme 
diate  world  seemed  doomed  to  nothingness.  Life 
promised  only  somewhere  else,  in  the  high  hills 


JERRY  271 

and  remote  bush  whither  the  tribe  had  already 
fled.  Loyal  he  was  to  his  salt,  to  the  master 
whom  he  had  obeyed  so  long,  nigger  that  he  was, 
who  so  long  had  fed  him,  and  for  whom  he  had 
entertained  a  true  affection.  But  this  master  no 
longer  was. 

Retreat,  Jerry  did,  but  he  was  not  hasty  in  re 
treat.  For  a  time  he  snarled  at  every  shell- 
scream  in  the  air  and  every  shell-burst  in  the  bush. 
But  after  a  time,  while  the  awareness  of  them 
continued  uncomfortably  with  him,  the  hair  on  his 
neck  remained  laid  down  and  he  neither  uttered  a 
snarl  nor  bared  his  teeth. 

And  when  he  parted  from  what  had  been  and 
which  had  ceased  to  be,  not  like  the  bush  dogs  did 
he  whimper  and  run.  Instead,  he  trotted  along 
the  path  at  a  regular  and  dignified  pace.  When 
he  emerged  upon  the  main  path,  he  found  it  de 
serted.  The  last  refugee  had  passed.  The  path, 
always  travelled  from  daylight  to  dark,  and  which 
he  had  so  recently  seen  glutted  with  humans,  now 
in  its  emptiness  affected  him  profoundly  with  the 
impression  of  the  endingness  of  all  things  in  a 
perishing  world.  So  it  was  that  he  did  not  sit 
down  under  the  banyan  tree  but  trotted  along  at 
the  far  rear  of  the  tribe. 

With  his  nose  he  read  the  narrative  of  the  flight. 


272  JERRY 

Only  once  did  he  encounter  what  advertised  its 
terror.  It  was  an  entire  group  annihilated  by  a 
shell.  There  were:  an  old  man  of  fifty,  with  a 
crutch  because  of  the  leg  which  had  been  slashed 
off  by  a  shark  when  he  was  a  young  boy;  a  dead 
Mary  with  a  dead  babe  at  her  breast  and  a  dead 
child  of  three  clutching  her  hand;  and  two  dead 
pigs,  huge  and  fat,  which  the  woman  had  been 
herding  to  safety. 

And  Jerry's  nose  told  him  of  how  the  stream 
of  the  fugitives  had  split  and  flooded  past  on  each 
side  and  flowed  together  again  beyond.  Incidents 
of  the  flight  he  did  encounter:  a  part  chewed  joint 
of  sugarcane  some  child  had  dropped;  a  clay  pipe, 
the  stem  short  from  successive  breakages;  a  single 
feather  from  some  young  man's  hair,  and  a  cala 
bash,  full  of  cooked  yams  and  sweet  potatoes,  de 
posited  carefully  beside  the  trail  by  some  Mary 
for  whom  its  weight  had  proved  too  great. 

The  shell-fire  ceased  as  Jerry  trotted  along; 
next  he  heard  the  rifle-fire  from  the  landing  party, 
as  it  shot  down  the  domestic  pigs  on  Somo's  streets. 
He  did  not  hear,  however,  the  chopping  down  of 
the  cocoanut  trees,  any  more  than  did  he  ever  re 
turn  to  behold  what  damage  the  axes  had  wrought. 

For  right  here  occurred  with  Jerry  a  wonderful 
thing  that  thinkers  of  the  world  have  not  ex- 


JERRY  273 

plained.  He  manifested  in  his  dog's  brain  the 
free  agency  of  life,  by  which  all  the  generations  of 
metaphysicians  have  postulated  God,  and  by  which 
all  the  deterministic  philosophers  have  been  led  by 
the  nose  despite  their  clear  denouncement  of  it  as 
sheer  illusion.  What  Jerry  did  he  did.  He  did 
not  know  how  or  why  he  did  it  any  more  than  does 
the  philosopher  know  how  or  why  he  decides  on 
mush  and  cream  for  breakfast  instead  of  two 
soft-boiled  eggs. 

What  Jerry  did  was  to  yield  in  action  to  a  brain 
impulse  to  do,  not  what  seemed  the  easier  and 
more  usual  thing,  but  to  do  what  seemed  the 
harder  and  more  unusual  thing.  Since  it  is  easier 
to  endure  the  known  than  to  fly  to  the  unknown, 
since  both  misery  and  fear  love  company,  the  ap 
parent  easiest  thing  for  Jerry  to  have  done  would 
have  been  to  follow  the  tribe  of  Somo  into  its  fast 
nesses.  Yet  what  Jerry  did  was  to  diverge  from 
the  line  of  retreat  and  to  start  northward,  across 
the  bounds  of  Somo,  and  continue  northward  into 
a  strange  land  of  the  unknown. 

Had  Nalasu  not  been  struck  down  by  the  ulti 
mate  nothingness,  Jerry  would  have  remained. 
This  is  true,  and  this,  perhaps,  to  the  one  who 
considers  his  action,  might  have  been  the  way  he 
reasoned.  But  he  did  not  reason  it,  did  not  reason 


274  JERRY 

at  all;  he  acted  on  impulse.  He  could  count  five 
objects,  and  pronounce  them  by  name  and  num 
ber,  but  he  was  incapable  of  reasoning  that  he 
would  remain  in  Somo  if  Nalasu  lived,  depart 
from  Somo  if  Nalasu  died.  He  merely  departed 
from  Somo  because  Nalasu  was  dead,  and  the  ter 
rible  shell-fire  passed  quickly  into  the  past  of  his 
consciousness,  while  the  present  became  vivid  after 
the  way  of  the  present.  Almost  on  his  toes  did  he 
tread  the  wild  bushmen's  trails,  tense  with  appre 
hension  of  the  lurking  death  he  knew  infested  such 
paths,  his  ears  cocked  alertly  for  jungle  sounds, 
his  eyes  following  his  ears  to  discern  what  made 
the  sounds. 

No  more  doughty  nor  daring  was  Columbus, 
venturing  all  that  he  was  to  the  unknown,  than 
was  Jerry  in  venturing  this  jungle-darkness  of 
black  Malaita.  And  this  wonderful  thing,  this 
seeming  great  deed  of  free  will  he  performed  in 
much  the  same  way  that  the  itching  of  feet  and 
tickle  of  fancy  have  led  the  feet  of  men  over  all 
the  earth. 

Although  Jerry  never  laid  eyes  on  Somo  again, 
Bashti  returned  with  his  tribe  the  same  day,  grin 
ning  and  chuckling  as  he  appraised  the  damage. 
Only  a  few  grass  houses  had  been  damaged  by  the 
shells.  Only  a  few  cocoanuts  had  been  chopped 


/  JERRY  275 

/down.  And  as  for  the  slain  pigs,  lest  they  spoil 
he  made  of  their  carcasses  a  great  feast.  One 
shell  had  knocked  a  hole  through  his  sea-wall. 
He  enlarged  it  for  a  launching  ways,  faced  the 
sides  of  it  with  dry-fitted  coral  rock,  and  gave  or 
ders  for  the  building  of  an  additional  canoe  house. 
The  only  vexation  he  suffered  was  the  death  of 
Nalasu  and  the  disappearance  of  Jerry  —  his  two 
experiments  in  primitive  eugenics. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  WEEK  Jerry  spent  in  the  bush,  deterred 
always  from  penetrating  to  the  mountains 
by  the  bushmen  who  ever  guarded  the  runways. 
And  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  him  in  the  mat 
ter  of  food,  had  he  not,  on  the  second  day,  en 
countered  a  lone  small  pig,  evidently  lost  from  its 
litter.  It  was  his  first  hunting  adventure  for  a 
living,  and  it  prevented  him  from  travelling 
farther,  for,  true  to  his  instinct,  he  remained  by 
his  kill  until  it  was  devoured. 

True,  he  ranged  widely  about  the  neighbour 
hood,  finding  no  other  food  he  could  capture.  But 
always,  until  it  was  gone,  he  returned  to  the  slain 
pig.  Yet  he  was  not  happy  in  his  freedom.  He 
was  too  domesticated,  too  civilised.  Too  many 
thousands  of  years  had  elapsed  since  his  ancestors 
had  run  freely  wild.  He  was  lonely.  He  could 
not  get  along  without  man.  Too  long  had  he, 
and  the  generations  before  him,  lived  in  intimate 
relationship  with  the  two-legged  gods.  Too  long 
had  his  kind  loved  man,  served  man  for  love,  en- 

276 


JERRY  277 

dured  for  love,  died  for  love,  and,  in  return,  been 
partly  appreciated,  less  understood,  and  roughly 
loved. 

So  great  was  Jerry's  loneliness  that  even  a  two- 
legged  black  god  was  desirable,  since  white  gods 
had  long  since  faded  into  the  limbo  of  the  past. 
For  all  he  might  have  known,  had  he  been  capable 
of  conjecturing,  the  only  white  gods  in  existence 
had  perished.  Acting  on  the  assumption  that  a 
black  god  was  better  than  no  god,  when  he  had 
quite  finished  the  little  pig,  he  deflected  his  course 
to  the  left,  down-hill,  toward  the  sea.  He  did 
this,  again  without  reasoning,  merely  because,  in 
the  subtle  processes  of  his  brain,  experience 
worked.  His  experience  had  been  to  live  always 
close  by  the  sea;  humans  he  had  always  encoun 
tered  close  by  the  sea;  and  down-hill  had  invaria 
bly  led  to  the  sea. 

He  came  out  upon  the  shore  of  a  reef-shel 
tered  lagoon  where  ruined  grass-houses  told  him 
men  had  lived.  The  jungle  ran  riot  through 
the  place.  Six-inch  trees,  throated  with  rotten 
remnants  of  thatched  roofs  through  which  they 
had  aspired  toward  the  sun,  rose  about  him. 
Quick-growing  trees  had  shadowed  the  king  posts 
so  that  the  idols  and  totems,  seated  in  carved 
shark  jaws,  grinned  greenly  and  monstrously  at 


278  JERRY 

the  futility  of  man  through  a  rime  of  moss  and 
mottled  fungus.  A  poor  little  sea-wall,  never 
much  at  its  best,  sprawled  in  ruin  from  the  cocoa- 
nut  roots  to  the  placid  sea.  Bananas,  plantains, 
and  breadfruit  lay  rotting  on  the  ground.  Bones 
lay  about,  human  bones,  and  Jerry  nosed  them 
out,  knowing  them  for  what  they  were,  emblems 
of  the  nothingness  of  life.  Skulls  he  did  not  en 
counter,  for  the  skulls  that  belonged  to  the  scat 
tered  bones  ornamented  the  devil  devil  houses  in 
the  upland  bush  villages. 

The  salt  tang  of  the  sea  gladdened  his  nostrils, 
and  he  snorted  with  the  pleasure  of  the  stench 
of  the  mangrove  swamp.  But,  another  Crusoe 
chancing  upon  the  footprint  of  another  man 
Friday,  his  nose,  not  his  eyes,  shocked  him  electri 
cally  alert  as  he  smelled  the  fresh  contact  of  a  liv 
ing  man's  foot  with  the  ground.  It  was  a  nig 
ger's  foot,  but  it  was  alive,  it  was  immediate;  and, 
as  he  traced  it  a  score  of  yards,  he  came  upon  an 
other  foot-scent,  indubitably  a  white  man's. 

Had  there  been  an  onlooker,  he  would  have 
thought  Jerry  had  gone  suddenly  mad.  He 
rushed  frantically  about,  turning  and  twisting  his 
course,  now  his  nose  to  the  ground,  now  up  in  the 
air,  whining  as  frantically  as  he  rushed,  leaping 
abruptly  3t  right  angles  as  new  scents  reached  him, 


JERRY  279 

scurrying  here  and  there  and  everywhere  as  if  in 
a  game  of  tag  with  some  invisible  playfellow. 

But  he  was  reading  the  full  report  which  many 
men  had  written  on  the  ground.  A  white  man 
had  been  there,  he  learned,  and  a  number  of 
blacks.  Here  a  black  had  climbed  a  cocoanut  tree 
and  cast  down  the  nuts.  There  a  banana  tree 
had  been  despoiled  of  its  clustered  fruit;  and,  be 
yond,  it  was  evident  that  a  similar  event  had  hap 
pened  to  a  breadfruit  tree.  One  thing,  however, 
puzzled  him  —  a  scent  new  to  him  that  was 
neither  black  man's  nor  white  man's.  Had  he 
had  the  necessary  knowledge  and  the  wit  of  eye- 
observance,  he  would  have  noted  that  the  foot 
print  was  smaller  than  a  man's  and  that  the  toe- 
prints  were  different  from  a  Mary's  in  that  they 
were  close  together  and  did  not  press  deeply  into 
the  earth.  What  bothered  him  in  his  smelling 
was  his  ignorance  of  talcum  powder.  Pungent  it 
was  in  his  nostrils,  but  never,  since  first  he  had 
smelled  out  the  footprints  of  man,  had  he  en 
countered  such  a  scent.  And  with  this  were  com 
bined  other  and  fainter  scents  that  were  equally 
strange  to  him. 

Not  long  did  he  interest  himself  in  such  mys 
tery.  A  white  man's  footprints  he  had  smelled, 
and  through  the  maze  of  all  the  other  prints  he 


28o  JERRY 

followed  the  one  print  down  through  a  breach  of 
sea-wall  to  the  sea-pounded  coral  sand  lapped  by 
the  sea.  Here  the  latest  freshness  of  many  feet 
drew  together  where  the  nose  of  a  boat  had  rested 
on  the  beach  and  where  men  had  disembarked  and 
embarked  again.  He  smelled  up  all  the  story, 
and,  his  fore-legs  in  the  water  till  it  touched  his 
shoulders,  he  gazed  out  across  the  lagoon  where 
the  disappearing  trail  was  lost  to  his  nose. 

Had  he  been  half  an  hour  sooner  he  would 
have  seen  a  boat,  without  oars,  gasoline-propelled, 
shooting  across  the  quiet  water.  What  he  did  see 
was  an  Arangi.  True,  it  was  far  larger  than  the 
Arangi  he  had  known,  but  it  was  white,  it  was 
long,  it  had  masts,  and  it  floated  on  the  surface  of 
the  sea.  It  had  three  masts,  sky-lofty  and  all  of  a 
size;  but  his  observation  was  not  trained  to  note 
the  difference  between  them  and  the  one  long  and 
the  one  short  mast  of  the  Arangi.  The  one  float 
ing  world  he  had  known  was  the  white-painted 
Arangi.  And,  since,  without  a  quiver  of  doubt, 
this  was  the  Arangi,  then,  on  board,  would  be  his 
beloved  Skipper.  If  Arangis  could  resurrect, 
then  could  Skippers  resurrect,  and  in  utter  faith 
that  the  head  of  nothingness  he  had  last  seen  on 
Bashti's  knees  he  would  find  again  rejoined  to  its 
body  and  its  two  legs  on  the  deck  of  the  white- 


JERRY  281 

painted  floating  world,  he  waded  out  to  his  depth, 
and,  swimming,  dared  the  sea. 

He  greatly  dared,  for  in  venturing  the  water  he 
broke  one  of  the  greatest  and  earliest  taboos  he 
had  learned.  In  his  vocabulary  was  no  word  for 
"  crocodile  ";  yet  in  his  thought,  as  potent  as  any 
utterable  word,  was  an  image  of  dreadful  import 
—  an  image  of  a  log  awash  that  was  not  a  log 
and  that  was  alive,  that  could  swim  upon  the  sur 
face,  under  the  surface,  and  haul  out  across  the 
dry  land,  that  was  huge-toothed,  mighty-mawed, 
and  certain  death  to  a  swimming  dog. 

But  he  continued  the  breaking  of  the  taboo 
without  fear.  Unlike  a  man  who  can  be  simul 
taneously  conscious  of  two  states  of  mind,  and 
who,  swimming,  would  have  known  both  the  fear 
and  the  high  courage  with  which  he  over-rode  the 
fear,  Jerry,  as  he  swam,  knew  only  one  state  of 
mind,  which  was  that  he  was  swimming  to  the 
Arangi  and  to  Skipper.  At  the  moment  preced 
ing  the  first  stroke  of  his  paws  in  the  water  out  of 
his  depth,  he  had  known  all  the  terribleness  of  the 
taboo  he  deliberately  broke.  But,  launched  out, 
the  decision  made,  the  line  of  least  resistance 
taken,  he  knew,  single-thoughted,  single-hearted, 
only  that  he  was  going  to  Skipper. 

Little   practised   as   he   was   in   swimming,   he 


282  JERRY 

swam  with  all  his  strength,  whimpering  in  a  sort 
of  chant  his  eager  love  for  Skipper  who  in 
dubitably  must  be  aboard  the  white  yacht  half  a 
mile  away.  His  little  song  of  love,  fraught  with 
keenness  of  anxiety,  came  to  the  ears  of  a  man 
and  woman  lounging  in  deck-chairs  under  the 
awning;  and  it  was  the  quick-eyed  woman  who 
first  saw  the  golden  head  of  Jerry  and  cried  out 
what  she  saw. 

u  Lower  a  boat,  Husband-Man,"  she  com 
manded.  "  It's  a  little  dog.  He  mustn't 
drown." 

"  Dogs  don't  drown  that  easily,"  was  "  Hus 
band-Man's  "  reply.  "  He'll  make  it  all  right. 
But  what  under  the  sun  a  dog's  doing  out 
here.  .  .  ."  He  lifted  his  marine  glasses  to  his 
eyes  and  stared  a  moment.  "  .  .  .  and  a  white 
man's  dog  at  that!  " 

Jerry  beat  the  water  with  his  paws  and  moved 
steadily  along,  straining  his  eyes  at  the  growing 
yacht  until  suddenly  warned  by  a  sensing  of  im 
mediate  danger.  The  taboo  smote  him.  This 
that  moved  toward  him  was  the  log  awash  that 
was  not  a  log  but  a  live  thing  of  peril.  Part  of 
it  he  saw  above  the  surface  moving  sluggishly,  and 
ere  that  projecting  part  sank,  he  had  an  awareness 
that  somehow  it  was  different  from  a  log  awash. 


JERRY  283 

Next,  something  brushed  past  him,  and  he  en 
countered  it  with  a  snarl  and  a  splashing  of  his 
forepaws.  He  was  half-whirled  about  in  the  vor 
tex  of  the  thing's  passage  caused  by  the  alarmed 
flirt  of  its  tail.  Shark  it  was,  and  not  crocodile, 
and  not  so  timidly  would  it  have  sheered  clear  but 
for  the  fact  that  it  was  fairly  full  with  a  recent 
feed  of  a  huge  sea  turtle  too  feeble  with  age  to 
escape. 

Although  he  could  not  see  it,  Jerry  sensed  that 
the  thing,  the  instrument  of  nothingness,  lurked 
about  him.  Nor  did  he  see  the  dorsal  fin  break 
surface  and  approach  him  from  the  rear.  From 
the  yacht  he  heard  rifle-shots  in  quick  succession. 
From  the  rear  a  panic  splash  came  to  his  ears. 
That  was  all.  The  peril  passed  and  was  forgot 
ten.  Nor  did  he  connect  the  rifle-shots  with  the 
passing  of  the  peril.  He  did  not  know,  and  he 
was  never  to  know,  that  one,  known  to  men  as 
Harley  Kennan,  but  known  as  "  Husband-Man  " 
by  the  woman  he  called  "  Wife-Woman, "  who 
owned  the  three-topmast  schooner  yacht  Ariel, 
had  saved  his  life  by  sending  a  thirty-thirty  Marlin 
bullet  through  the  base  of  a  shark's  fin. 

But  Jerry  was  to  know  Harley  Kennan,  and 
quickly,  for  it  was  Harley  Kennan,  a  bowline 
around  his  body  under  his  arm-pits,  lowered  by  a 


284  JERRY 

couple  of  seamen  down  the  generous  freeboard  of 
the  Ariel,  who  gathered  in  by  the  nape  of  the  neck 
the  smooth  coated  Irish  terrier  that,  treading 
water  perpendicularly,  had  no  eyes  for  him  so 
eagerly  did  he  gaze  at  the  line  of  faces  along  the 
rail  in  quest  of  the  one  face. 

No  pause  for  thanks  did  he  make  when  he  was 
dropped  down  upon  the  deck.  Instead,  shaking 
the  water  from  himself  instinctively  as  he  ran,  he 
scurried  along  the  deck  for  Skipper.  The  man 
and  his  wife  laughed  at  the  spectacle. 

"  He  acts  as  if  he  were  demented  with  delight 
at  being  rescued,"  Mrs.  Kennan  observed. 

And  Mr.  Kennan:  "  It's  not  that.  He  must 
have  a  screw  loose  somewhere.  Perhaps  he's  one 
of  those  creatures  who've  slipped  the  ratchet  off 
the  motion  cog.  Maybe  he  can't  stop  running 
till  he  runs  down." 

In  the  meantime  Jerry  continued  to  run,  up  port 
side  and  down  starboard  side,  from  stern  to  bow 
and  back  again,  wagging  his  stump  tail  and  laugh 
ing  friendliness  to  the  many  two-legged  gods  he 
encountered.  Had  he  been  able  to  think  to  such 
abstraction  he  would  have  been  astounded  at  the 
number  of  white  gods.  Thirty  there  were  at 
least,  not  counting  other  gods  that  were  neither 
black  nor  white,  but  that  still,  two-legged,  upright 


JERRY  285 

and  garmented,  were  beyond  all  peradventure 
gods.  Likewise,  had  he  been  capable  of  such 
generalisation,  he  would  have  decided  that  the 
white  gods  had  not  yet  all  of  them  passed  into  the 
nothingness.  As  it  was,  he  realised  all  this  with 
out  being  aware  that  he  realised  it. 

But  there  was  no  Skipper.  He  sniffed  down 
the  forecastle  hatch,  sniffed  into  the  galley  where 
two  Chinese  cooks  jabbered  unintelligibly  to  him, 
sniffed  down  the  cabin  companionway,  sniffed 
down  the  engine-room  skylight  and  for  the  first 
time  knew  gasoline  and  engine  oil;  but  sniff  as  he 
would,  wherever  he  ran,  no  scent  did  he  catch  of 
Skipper. 

Aft,  at  the  wheel,  he  would  have  sat  down  and 
howled  his  heartbreak  of  disappointment,  had  not 
a  white  god,  evidently  of  command,  in  gold  deco 
rated  white  duck  cap  and  uniform,  spoken  to  him. 
Instantly,  always  a  gentleman,  Jerry  smiled  with 
flattened  ears  of  courtesy,  wagged  his  tail,  and  ap 
proached.  The  hand  of  this  high  god  had  almost 
caressed  his  head  when  the  woman's  voice  came 
down  the  deck  in  speech  that  Jerry  did  not  under 
stand.  The  words  and  terms  of  it  were  beyond 
him.  But  he  sensed  power  of  command  in  it, 
which  was  verified  by  the  quick  withdrawal  of  the 
hand  of  the  god  in  white  and  gold  who  had  almost 


286  JERRY 

caressed  him.  This  god  stiffened  electrically  and 
pointed  Jerry  along  the  deck,  and,  with  mouth  en 
couragements  and  urgings  the  import  of  which 
Jerry  could  only  guess,  directed  him  toward  the 
one  who  so  commanded  by  saying: 

"  Send  him,  please,  along  to  me,  Captain 
Winters." 

Jerry  wriggled  his  body  in  delight  of  obeying, 
and  would  loyally  have  presented  his  head  to  her 
outreaching  caress  of  hand,  had  not  the  strange 
ness  and  difference  of  her  deterred  him.  He 
broke  off  in  mid  approach  and  with  a  show  of 
teeth  snarled  himself  back  and  away  from  the 
windblown  skirt  of  her.  The  only  human  females 
he  had  known  were  naked  Marys.  This  skirt, 
flapping  in  the  wind  like  a  sail,  reminded  him  of 
the  menacing  mainsail  of  the  Arangl  when  it  had 
jarred  and  crashed  and  swooped  above  his  head. 
The  noises  her  mouth  made  were  gentle  and  in 
gratiating,  but  the  fearsome  skirt  still  flapped  in 
the  breeze. 

"  You  ridiculous  dog!"  she  laughed.  "I'm 
not  going  to  bite  you." 

But  her  husband  thrust  out  a  rough,  sure  hand 
and  drew  Jerry  in  to  him.  And  Jerry  wriggled  in 
ecstasy  under  the  god's  caress,  kissing  the  hand 
with  a  red  flicker  of  tongue.  Next,  Harley 


JERRY  287 

Kennan  directed  him  toward  the  woman  sitting  up 
in  the  deck-chair  and  bending  forward  with  hover 
ing  hands  of  greeting.  Jerry  obeyed.  He  ad 
vanced  with  flattened  ears  and  laughing  mouth; 
but,  just  ere  she  could  touch  him,  the  wind  flut 
tered  the  skirt  again  and  he  backed  away  with  a 
snarl. 

"  It's  not  you  that  he's  afraid  of,  Villa,"  he  said. 
"  But  of  your  skirt.  Perhaps  he's  never  seen  a 
skirt  before." 

"  You  mean,"  Villa  Kennan  challenged,  "  that 
these  head-hunting  cannibals  ashore  here  keep 
records  of  pedigrees  and  maintain  kennels;  for 
surely  this  absurd  adventurer  of  a  dog  is  as  proper 
an  Irish  terrier  as  the  Ariel  is  an  Oregon-pine- 
planked  schooner." 

Harley  Kennan  laughed  in  acknowledgment. 
Villa  Kennan  laughed,  too;  and  Jerry  knew  that 
these  were  a  pair  of  happy  gods,  and  himself 
laughed  with  them. 

Of  his  own  initiative,  he  approached  the  lady 
god  again,  attracted  by  the  talcum  powder  and 
other  minor  fragrancies  he  had  already  identified 
as  the  strange  scents  encountered  on  the  beach. 
But  the  unfortunate  trade  wind  again  fluttered  her 
skirt,  and  again  he  backed  away  —  not  so  far,  this 
time,  with  much  less  of  a  bristle  of  his  neck  and 


288  JERRY 

shoulder  hair,  and  with  no  more  of  a  snarl  than  a 
mere  half-baring  of  his  fangs. 

"  He's  afraid  of  your  skirt,"  Harley  reiterated. 
"  Look  at  him!  He  wants  to  come  to  you,  but 
the  skirt  keeps  him  away.  Tuck  it  under  you  so 
that  it  won't  flutter  and  see  what  happens." 

Villa  Kennan  carried  out  the  suggestion,  and 
Jerry  came  circumspectly,  bent  his  head  to  her 
hand  and  writhed  his  back  under  it,  the  while 
he  sniffed  her  feet,  stocking-clad  and  shoe-cov 
ered,  and  knew  them  as  the  feet  which  had  trod 
uncovered  the  ruined  ways  of  the  village  ashore. 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  Harley  agreed.  "He's 
white-man  selected,  white-man  bred  and  born.  He 
has  a  history.  He  knows  adventure  from  the 
ground-roots  up.  If  he  could  tell  his  story,  we'd 
sit  listening  entranced  for  days.  Depend  on  it, 
he's  not  known  blacks  all  his  life.  Let's  try  him 
on  Johnny." 

Johnny,  whom  Kennan  beckoned  up  to  him, 
was  a  loan  from  the  Resident  Commissioner  of  the 
British  Solomons  at  Tulagi,  who  had  come  along 
as  pilot  and  guide  to  Kennan  rather  than  as  philos 
opher  and  friend.  Johnny  approached  grinning, 
and  Jerry's  demeanour  immediately  changed.  His 
body  stiffened  under  Villa  Kennan's  hand  as  he 
drew  away  from  her  and  stalked  stiff-legged  to 


JERRY  289 

the  black.  Jerry's  ears  did  not  flatten,  nor  did 
he  laugh  fellowship  with  his  mouth,  as  he  in 
spected  Johnny  and  smelt  his  legs  for  future  ref 
erence.  Cavalier  he  was  to  the  extreme,  and, 
after  the  briefest  of  inspection,  he  turned  back  to 
Villa  Kennan. 

"What  did  I  say?"  her  husband  exulted. 
"  He  knows  the  colour  line.  He's  a  white  man's 
dog  that  has  been  trained  to  it." 

"  My  word,"  spoke  up  Johnny.  u  Me  know'm 
that  fella  dog.  Me  know'm  papa  and  mamma 
belong  along  him.  Big  fella  white  marster  Mis 
ter  Haggin  stop  along  Meringe,  mamma  and  papa 
stop  along  him  that  fella  place." 

Harley  Kennan  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation. 

"  Of  course,"  he  cried.  "  The  Commissioner 
told  me  all  about  it.  The  Arangi,  that  the  Somo 
people  captured,  sailed  last  from  Meringe  Plan 
tation.  Johnny  recognises  the  dog  as  the  same 
breed  as  the  pair  Haggin,  of  Meringe,  must  pos 
sess.  But  that  was  a  long  time  ago.  He  must 
have  been  a  little  puppy.  Of  course  he's  a  white 
man's  dog." 

"  And  yet  you've  overlooked  the  crowning 
proof  of  it,"  Villa  Kennan  teased.  "  The  dog 
carries  the  evidence  around  with  him." 

Harley  looked  Jerry  over  carefully. 


29o  JERRY 

"  Indisputable  evidence/'  she  insisted. 
After  another  prolonged  scrutiny,  Kennan  shook 
his  head. 

"  Blamed  if  I  can  see  anything  so  indisputable 
as  to  leave  conjecture  out." 

44  The  tail,"  his  wife  gurgled.  "  Surely  the 
natives  do  not  bob  the  tails  of  their  dogs.  —  Do 
they,  Johnny?  Do  black  man  stop  along  Ma- 
laita  chop'm  off  tail  belong  dog?  " 

"  No  chop'm  off,"  Johnny  agreed.  u  Mister 
Haggin  along  Meringe  he  chop'm  off.  My  word, 
he  chop'm  that  fella  tail,  you  bet." 

44  Then  he's  the  sole  survivor  of  the  Arangi" 
Villa  Kennan  concluded.  44  Don't  you  agree,  Mr. 
Sherlock  Holmes  Kennan?  " 

44  I  salute  you,  Mrs.  S.  Holmes,"  her  husband 
acknowledged  gallantly.  44  And  all  that  remains 
is  for  you  to  lead  me  directly  to  the  head  of  La 
Perouse  himself.  The  sailing  directions  record 
that  he  left  it  somewhere  in  these  islands." 

Little  did  they  guess  that  Jerry  had  lived  on  in 
timate  terms  with  one  Bashti,  not  many  miles  away 
long  the  shore,  who,  in  Somo,  at  that  very  moment, 
sat  in  his  grass  house  pondering  over  a  head  on  his 
withered  knees  that  had  once  been  the  head  of  the 
great  navigator,  the  history  of  which  had  been 
forgotten  by  the  sons  of  the  chief  who  had  taken  it. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  fine,  three-topmast  schooner  Ariel,  on  a 
cruise  around  the  world,  had  already  been 
out  a  year  from  San  Francisco  when  Jerry 
boarded  her.  As  a  world,  and  as  a  white-god 
world,  she  was  to  him  beyond  compare.  She  was 
not  small  like  the  Arangi,  nor  was  she  cluttered 
fore  and  aft,  on  deck  and  below,  with  a  spawn 
of  niggers.  The  only  black  Jerry  found  on  her 
was  Johnny;  while  her  spaciousness  was  filled 
principally  with  two-legged  white  gods. 

He  met  them  everywhere,  at  the  wheel,  on 
lookout,  washing  decks,  polishing  brass-work,  run 
ning  aloft,  or  tailing  onto  sheets  and  tackles  half 
a  dozen  at  a  time.  But  there  was  a  difference. 
There  were  gods  and  gods,  and  Jerry  was  not 
long  in  learning  that  in  the  hierarchy  of  the 
heaven  of  these  white  gods  on  the  Ariel,  the  sail- 
orising,  ship-working  ones  were  far  beneath  the 
captain  and  his  two  white-and-gold-clad  officers. 
These  in  turn,  were  less  than  Harley  Kennan  and 
Villa  Kennan;  for  them,  it  came  quickly  to  him, 

291 


292  JERRY 

Harley  Kennan  commanded.  Nevertheless,  there 
was  one  thing  he  did  not  learn  and  was  destined 
never  to  learn,  namely,  the  supreme  god  over  all 
on  the  Ariel.  Although  he  never  tried  to  know, 
being  unable  to  think  to  such  a  distance,  he  never 
came  to  know  whether  it  was  Harley  Kennan 
who  commanded  Villa,  or  Villa  Kennan  who  com 
manded  Harley.  In  a  way,  without  vexing  him 
self  with  the  problem,  he  accepted  their  overlord- 
ship  of  the  world  as  dual.  Neither  outranked 
the  other.  They  seemed  to  rule  co-equal,  while 
all  others  bowed  before  them. 

It  is  not  true  that  to  feed  a  dog  is  to  win  a 
dog's  heart.  Never  did  Harley  or  Villa  feed 
Jerry;  yet  it  was  to  them  he  elected  to  belong, 
them  he  elected  to  love  and  serve  rather  than 
the  Japanese  steward  who  regularly  fed  him. 
For  that  matter,  Jerry,  like  any  dog,  was  able 
to  differentiate  between  the  mere  direct  food- 
giving  and  the  food  source.  That  is,  subcon 
sciously,  he  was  aware  that  not  alone  his  own  food 
but  the  food  of  all  on  board  found  its  source  in 
the  man  and  woman.  They  it  was  who  fed  all 
and  ruled  all.  Captain  Winters  might  give  or 
ders  to  the  sailors,  but  Captain  Winters  took  or 
ders  from  Harley  Kennan.  Jerry  knew  this  as 
indubitably  as  he  acted  upon  it,  although  all  the 


JERRY  293 

while  it  never  entered  his  head  as  an  item  of  con 
scious  knowledge. 

And,  as  he  had  been  accustomed  all  his  life, 
as  with  Mister  Haggin,  Skipper,  and  even  with 
Bashti  and  the  chief  devil  devil  doctor  of  Somo, 
he  attached  himself  to  the  high  gods  themselves, 
and  from  the  gods  under  them  received  deference 
accordingly.  As  Skipper,  on  the  Arangi,  and 
Bashti  in  Somo,  had  promulgated  taboos,  so  the 
man  and  the  woman  on  the  Ariel  protected  Jerry 
with  taboos.  From  Sano,  the  Japanese  steward, 
and  from  him  alone,  did  Jerry  receive  food.  Not 
from  any  sailor  in  whaleboat  or  launch  could  he 
accept,  or  would  he  be  offered,  a  bit  of  biscuit  or 
an  invitation  to  go  ashore  for  a  run.  Nor  did 
they  offer  it.  Nor  were  they  permitted  to  be 
come  intimate,  to  the  extent  of  romping  and  play 
ing  with  him,  nor  even  of  whistling  to  him  along 
the  deck. 

By  nature  a  "  one-man  "  dog,  all  this  was  very 
acceptable  to  Jerry.  Differences  of  degree  there 
were,  of  course;  but  no  one  more  delicately  and 
definitely  knew  those  differences  than  did  Jerry 
himself.  Thus,  it  was  permissible  for  the  two 
officers  to  greet  him  with  a  u  Hello,"  or  a  "  Good 
morning,"  and  even  to  touch  a  hand  in  a  brief 
and  friendly  pat  to  his  head.  With  Captain 


294  JERRY 

Winters,  however,  greater  familiarity  obtained. 
Captain  Winters  could  rub  his  ears,  shake  hands 
with  him,  scratch  his  back,  and  even  roughly  catch 
him  by  the  jowls.  But  Captain  Winters  invaria 
bly  surrendered  him  up  when  the  one  man  and  the 
one  woman  appeared  on  deck. 

When  it  came  to  liberties,  delicious  wanton  lib 
erties,  Jerry  alone  of  all  on  board  could  take 
them  with  the  man  and  woman,  and  on  the  other 
hand,  they  were  the  only  two  to  whom  he  per 
mitted  liberties.  Any  indignity  that  Villa  Ken- 
nan  chose  to  inflict  upon  him  he  was  throbbingly 
glad  to  receive,  such  as  doubling  his  ears  inside 
out  till  they  stuck,  at  the  same  time  making  him 
sit  upright,  with  helpless  forefeet  paddling  the 
air  for  equilibrium,  while  she  blew  roguishly  in 
his  face  and  nostrils.  As  bad  was  Harley  Ken- 
nan's  trick  of  catching  him  gloriously  asleep  on 
an  edge  of  Villa's  skirt  and  of  tickling  the  hair 
between  his  toes  and  making  him  kick  involun 
tarily  in  his  sleep,  until  he  kicked  himself  awake 
to  hearing  of  gurgles  and  snickers  of  laughter  at 
his  expense. 

In  turn,  at  night  on  deck,  wriggling  her  toes 
at  him  under  a  rug -to  simulate  some  strange  and 
crawling  creature  of  an  invader,  he  would  dare 


JERRY  295 

to  simulate  his  own  befoolment  and  quite  disrupt 
Villa's  bed  with  his  frantic  ferocious  attack  on  the 
thing  that  he  knew  was  only  her  toes.  In  gales 
of  laughter,  intermingled  with  half-genuine  cries 
of  alarm  as  almost  his  teeth  caught  her  toes,  she 
always  concluded  by  gathering  him  into  her  arms 
and  laughing  the  last  of  her  laughter  away  into 
his  fattened  ears  of  joy  and  love.  Who  else,  of 
all  on  board  the  Ariel,  would  have  dared  such 
devilishness  with  the  lady-god's  bed?  This  ques 
tion  it  never  entered  his  mind  to  ask  himself;  yet 
he  was  fully  aware  of  how  exclusively  favoured 
he  was. 

Another  of  his  deliberate  tricks  was  one  dis 
covered  by  accident.  Thrusting  his  muzzle  to 
meet  her  in  love,  he  chanced  to  encounter  her  face 
with  his  soft-hard  little  nose  with  such  force  as 
to  make  her  recoil  and  cry  out.  When,  another 
time,  in  all  innocence  this  happened  again,  he  be 
came  conscious  of  it  and  of  its  effect  upon  her; 
and  thereafter,  when  she  grew  too  wildly  wild, 
too  wantonly  facetious  in  her  teasing  playful  love 
of  him,  he  would  thrust  his  muzzle  at  her  face  and 
make  her  throw  her  head  back  to  escape  him. 
After  a  time,  learning  that  if  he  persisted,  she 
would  settle  the  situation  by  gathering  him  into 


296  JERRY 

her  arms  and  gurgling  into  his  ears,  he  made  it  a 
point  to  act  his  part  until  such  delectable  sur 
render  and  joyful  culmination  were  achieved. 

Never,  by  accident,  in  this  deliberate  game,  did 
he  hurt  her  chin  or  cheek  so  severely  as  he  hurt 
his  own  tender  nose,  but  in  the  hurt  itself  he  found 
more  of  delight  than  pain.  All  of  fun  it  was,  all 
through,  and,  in  addition,  it  was  love  fun.  Such 
hurt  was  more  than  fun.  Such  pain  was  heart- 
pleasure. 

All  dogs  are  god-worshippers.  More  fortu 
nate  than  most  dogs,  Jerry  won  to  a  pair  of  gods 
that,  no  matter  how  much  they  commanded,  loved 
more.  Although  his  nose  might  threaten  griev 
ously  to  hurt  the  cheek  of  his  adored  god,  rather 
than  have  it  really  hurt  he  would  have  spilled  out 
all  the  love-tide  of  his  heart  that  constituted  the 
life  of  him.  He  did  not  live  for  food,  for  shel 
ter,  for  a  comfortable  place  between  the  dark 
nesses  that  rounded  existence.  He  lived  for  love. 
And  as  surely  as  he  gladly  lived  for  love,  would 
he  have  died  gladly  for  love. 

Not  quickly,  in  Somo,  had  Jerry's  memory  of 
Skipper  and  Mister  Haggin  faded.  Life  in  the 
cannibal  village  had  been  too  unsatisfying.  There 
had  been  too  little  love.  Only  love  can  erase  the 
memory  of  love,  or  rather,  the  hurt  of  lost  love. 


JERRY  297 

And  on  board  the  Ariel  such  erasement  occurred 
quickly.  Jerry  did  not  forget  Skipper  and  Mister 
Haggin.  But  at  the  moments  he  remembered 
them  the  yearning  that  accompanied  the  memory 
grew  less  pronounced  and  painful.  The  intervals 
between  the  moments  widened,  nor  did  Skipper 
and  Mister  Haggin  take  form  and  reality  so  fre 
quently  in  his  dreams;  for,  after  the  manner  of 
dogs,  he  dreamed  much  and  vividly. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NORTHWARD,  along  the  leeward  coast  of 
Malaita,  the  Ariel  worked  her  leisurely 
way,  threading  the  colour-riotous  lagoon  that  lay 
between  the  shore-reefs  and  outer-reefs,  daring 
passages  so  narrow  and  coral-patched  that  Cap 
tain  Winters  averred  each  day  added  a  thousand 
grey  hairs  to  his  head,  and  dropping  anchor  off 
every  walled  islet  of  the  outer  reef  and  every 
mangrove  swamp  of  the  mainland  that  looked 
promising  of  cannibal  life.  For  Harley  and 
Villa  Kennan  were  in  no  hurry.  So  long  as  the 
way  was  interesting,  they  cared  not  how  long  it 
proved  from  anywhere  to  anywhere. 

During  this  time  Jerry  learned  a  new  name  for 
himself  —  or,  rather,  an  entire  series  of  names 
for  himself.  This  was  because  of  an  aversion  on 
Harley  Kennan's  part  against  renaming  a  named 
thing. 

"  A  name  he  must  have  had,"  he  argued  to 
Villa.  "  Haggin  must  have  named  him  before 
he  sailed  on  the  Arangi.  Therefore,  nameless  he 

298 


JERRY  299 

must  be  until  we  get  back  to  Tulagi  and  find  out 
his  real  name." 

"What's  in  a  name?"  Villa  had  begun  to 
tease. 

"  Everything,"  her  husband  retorted.  '  Think 
of  yourself,  shipwrecked,  called  by  your  rescuers 

*  Mrs.  Riggs,'  or  '  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin,'  or 
just  plain  '  Topsy.'     And  think  of  me  being  called 
4  Benedict  Arnold,'  or  '  Judas,'  or  ...  or  ... 

*  Haman.'     No,  keep  him  nameless,  until  we  find 
out  his  original  name." 

"  Must  call  him  something,"'  she  objected. 
"  Can't  think  of  him  without  thinking  something." 

"  Then  call  him  many  names,  but  never  the 
same  name  twice.  Call  him  '  Dog '  to-day,  and 
'  Mister  Dog '  to-morrow,  and  the  next  day  some 
thing  else." 

So  it  was,  more  by  tone  and  emphasis  and  con 
text  of  situation  than  by  anything  else,  that  Jerry 
came  hazily  to  identify  himself  with  names  such 
as:  Dog,  Mister  Dog,  Adventurer,  Strong  Use 
ful  One,  Sing  Song  Silly,  Noname,  and  Quiver 
ing  Love-Heart.  These  were  a  few  of  the  many 
names  lavished  on  him  by  Villa.  Harley,  in  turn, 
addressed  him  as:  Man-Dog,  Incorruptible  One, 
Brass  Tacks,  Then  Some,  Sin  of  Gold,  South  Sea 
Satrap,  Nimrod,  Young  Nick,  and  Lion-Slayer. 


300  JERRY 

In  brief,  the  man  and  woman  competed  with  each 
other  to  name  him  most  without  naming  him 
ever  the  same.  And  Jerry,  less  by  sound  and 
syllable  than  by  what  of  their  hearts  vibrated  in 
their  throats,  soon  learned  to  know  himself  by 
any  name  they  chose  to  address  to  him.  He  no 
longer  thought  of  himself  as  Jerry,  but,  instead, 
as  any  sound  that  sounded  nice  or  was  love- 
sounded. 

His  great  disappointment  (if  "  disappoint 
ment  "  may  be  considered  to  describe  an  uncon 
sciousness  of  failure  to  realise  the  expected)  was 
in  the  matter  of  language.  No  one  on  board, 
not  even  Harley  and  Villa,  talked  Nalasu's  talk. 
All  Jerry's  large  vocabulary,  all  his  proficiency 
in  the  use  of  it,  which  would  have  set  him  apart 
as  a  marvel  beyond  all  other  dogs  in  the  mastery 
of  speech,  was  wasted  on  those  of  the  Ariel. 
They  did  not  speak,  much  less  guess,  the  existence 
of  the  whiff-whuff  shorthand  language  which 
Nalasu  had  taught  him,  and  which,  Nalasu  dead, 
Jerry  alone  knew  of  all  living  creatures  in  the 
world. 

In  vain  Jerry  tried  it  on  the  lady-god.  Sit 
ting  squatted  on  his  haunches,  his  head  bowed 
forward  and  held  between  her  hands,  he  would 
talk  and  talk  and  elicit  never  a  responsive  word 


JERRY  301 

from  her.  With  tiny  whines  and  thin  whimper 
ings,  with  whiffs  and  whuffs  and  growly  sorts  of 
noises  down  in  his  throat,  he  would  try  to  tell 
her  somewhat  of  his  tale.  She  was  all  melting- 
ness  of  sympathy;  she  would  hold  her  ear  so  near 
to  the  articulate  mouth  of  him  as  almost  to  drown 
him  in  the  flowing  fragrance  of  her  hair;  and  yet 
her  brain  told  her  nothing  of  what  he  uttered, 
although  her  heart  surely  sensed  his  intent. 

"Bless  me,  Husband  Man!"  she  would  cry 
out.  "  The  Dog  is  talking.  I  know  he  is  talk 
ing.  He  is  telling  me  all  about  himself.  The 
story  of  his  life  is  mine,  could  I  but  understand. 
It's  right  here  pouring  into  my  miserable  inade 
quate  ears,  only  I  can't  catch  it." 

Harley  was  sceptical,  but  her  woman's  intuition 
guessed  aright. 

"  I  know  it !  "  she  would  assure  her  husband. 
"  I  tell  you  he  could  tell  the  tale  of  all  his  ad 
ventures  if  only  we  had  understanding.  No 
other  dog  has  ever  talked  this  way  to  me.  There's 
a  tale  there.  I  feel  its  touches.  Sometimes  al 
most  do  I  know  he  is  telling  of  joy,  of  love,  of 
high  elation,  and  combat.  Again,  it  is  indigna 
tion,  hurt  of  outrage,  despair  and  sadness." 

"  Naturally,"  Harley  agreed  quietly.  "  A 
white  man's  dog,  adrift  among  the  anthropophagi 


302  JERRY 

of  Malaita,  would  experience  all  such  sensations; 
and,  just  as  naturally,  a  white  man's  woman,  a 
Wife-Woman,  a  dear  delightful  Villa  Kennan 
woman,  can  of  herself  imagine  such  a  dog's  ex 
periences  and  deem  his  silly  noises  a  recital  of 
them,  failing  to  recognise  them  as  projections  of 
her  own  delicious,  sensitive,  sympathetic  self. 
The  song  of  the  sea  from  the  lips  of  the  shell  — . 
Pshaw!  The  song  oneself  makes  of  the  sea  and 
puts  into  the  shell." 

"  Just  the  same  — " 

"  Always  the  same,"  he  gallantly  cut  her  off. 
"  Always  right,  especially  when  most  wrong.  Not 
in  navigation,  of  course,  nor  in  affairs  such  as 
the  multiplication  table,  where  the  brass  tacks  of 
reality  stud  the  way  of  one's  ship  among  the  rocks 
and  shoals  of  the  sea;  but  right,  truth  beyond 
truth  to  truth  higher  than  truth,  namely,  intui 
tional  truth." 

"  Now  you  are  laughing  at  me  with  your  su 
perior  man-wisdom,"  retorted  she.  "  But  I 
know  — "  She  paused  for  the  strength  of  words 
she  needed,  and  words  forsook  her,  so  that  her 
quick  sweeping  gesture  of  hand-touch  to  heart 
named  authority  that  overrode  all  speech. 

"  We  agree  —  I  salute,"  he  laughed  gaily. 
"  It  was  just  precisely  what  I  was  saying.  Our 


JERRY  303 

hearts  can  talk  our  heads  down  almost  any  time, 
and,  best  of  all,  our  hearts  are  always  right  de 
spite  the  statistic  that  they  are  mostly  wrong." 

Harley  Kennan  did  not  believe,  and  never  did 
believe,  his  wife's  report  of  the  tales  Jerry  told. 
And  through  all  his  days  to  the  last  one  of  them, 
he  considered  the  whole  matter  a  pleasant  fancy, 
all  poesy  of  sentiment,  on  Villa's  part. 

But  Jerry,  four-legged,  smooth-coated,  Irish 
terrier  that  he  was,  had  the  gift  of  tongues.  If 
he  could  not  teach  languages,  at  least  he  could 
learn  languages.  Without  effort,  and  quickly, 
practically  with  no  teaching,  he  began  picking  up 
the  language  of  the  Ariel.  Unfortunately,  it  was 
not  a  whiff-whuff,  dog-possible  language  such  as 
Nalasu  had  invented.  While  Jerry  came  to  un 
derstand  much  that  was  spoken  on  the  Ariel,  he 
could  speak  none  of  it.  Three  names,  at  least, 
he  had  for  the  lady-god:  "Villa,"  "Wife- 
Woman,"  "  Missis  Kennan,"  for  so  he  heard  her 
variously  called.  But  he  could  not  so  call  her. 
This  was  god-language  entire,  which  only  gods 
could  talk.  It  was  unlike  the  language  of  Na- 
lasu's  devising,  which  had  been  a  compromise  be 
tween  god-talk  and  dog-talk  so  that  a  god  and  a 
dog  could  talk  in  the  common  medium. 

In  the  same  way  he  learned  many  names  for 


304  JERRY 

the  one-man  god:  "  Mister  Kennan,"  u  Harley," 
"  Captain  Kennan,"  and  "  Skipper."  Only  in  the 
intimacy  of  the  three  of  them  alone  did  Jerry  hear 
him  called:  "Husband-Man,"  "  My  Man," 
"Patient  One,"  "Dear  Man,"  "Lover,"  and 
"  This  Woman's  Delight."  But  in  no  way  could 
Jerry  utter  these  names  in  address  of  the  one- 
man  nor  the  many  names  in  address  of  the  one- 
woman.  Yet  on  a  quiet  night  with  no  wind 
among  the  trees,  often  and  often  had  he  whispered 
to  Nalasu,  by  whiff-whuff  of  name,  from  a  hun 
dred  feet  away. 

One  day,  bending  over  him,  her  hair  (drying 
from  a  salt-water  swim)  flying  about  him,  the 
one-woman,  her  two  hands  holding  his  head  and 
jowls  so  that  his  ribbon  of  kissing  tongue  just 
missed  her  nose  in  the  empty  air,  sang  to  him: 
"  *  Don't  know  what  to  call  him,  but  he's  mighty 
lak'  arose!'" 

On  another  day  she  repeated  this,  at  the  same 
time  singing  most  of  the  song  to  him  softly  in 
his  ear.  In  the  midst  of  it  Jerry  surprised  her. 
Equally  true  might  be  the  statement  that  he  sur 
prised  himself.  Never  had  he  consciously  done 
such  a  thing  before.  And  he  did  it  without  voli 
tion.  He  never  intended  to  do  it.  For  that  mat 
ter,  the  very  thing  he  did  was  what  mastered 


JERRY  305 

him  into  doing  it.  No  more  than  could  he  re 
frain  from  shaking  the  water  from  his  back  after 
a  swim,  or  from  kicking  in  his  sleep  when  his  feet 
were  tickled,  could  he  have  avoided  doing  this 
imperative  thing. 

As  her  voice,  in  the  song,  made  soft  vibrations 
in  his  ears,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  grew  dim 
and  vague  before  him,  and  that  somehow,  under 
the  soft  searching  prod  of  her  song,  he  was 
otherwhere.  So  much  was  he  otherwhere  that 
he  did  the  surprising  thing.  He  sat  down 
abruptly,  almost  cataleptically,  drew  his  head 
away  from  the  clutch  of  her  hands  and  out 
of  the  entanglement  of  her  hair,  and,  his  nose 
thrust  upward  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees, 
he  began  to  quiver  and  to  breathe  audibly  in 
rhythm  to  the  rhythm  of  her  singing.  With  a 
quick  jerk,  cataleptically,  his  nose  pointed  to  the 
zenith,  his  mouth  opened,  and  a  flood  of  sound 
poured  forth,  running  swiftly  upward  in  crescendo 
and  slowly  falling  as  it  died  away. 

This  howl  was  the  beginning,  and  it  led  to  the 
calling  him  "  Sing  Song  Silly."  For  Villa  Ken- 
nan  was  quick  to  seize  upon  the  howling  her  sing 
ing  induced  and  to  develop  it.  Never  did  he 
hang  back  when  she  sat  down,  extended  her  wel 
coming  hands  to  him  and  invited:  "  Come  on, 


306  JERRY 

Sing  Song  Silly."  He  would  come  to  her,  sit 
down  with  the  loved  fragrance  of  her  hair  in  his 
nostrils,  lay  the  side  of  his  head  against  hers, 
point  his  nose  past  her  ear,  and  almost  immedi 
ately  follow  her  when  she  began  her  low  singing. 
Minor  strains  were  especially  provocative  in  get 
ting  him  started,  and,  once  started,  he  would  sing 
with  her  as  long  as  she  wished. 

Singing  it  truly  was.  Apt  in  all  ways  of 
speech,  he  quickly  learned  to  soften  and  subdue 
his  howl  till  it  was  mellow  and  golden.  Even 
could  he  manage  it  to  die  away  almost  to  a  whis 
per,  and  to  rise  and  fall,  accelerate  and  retard,  in 
obedience  to  her  own  voice  and  in  accord  with  it. 

* 

Jerry  enjoyed  the  singing  much  in  the  same 
way  the  opium  eater  enjoys  his  dreams.  For 
dream  he  did,  vaguely  and  indistinctly,  eyes  wide 
open  and  awake,  the  lady-god's  hair  in  a  faint- 
scented  cloud  about  him,  her  voice  mourning  with 
his,  his  consciousness  drowning  in  the  dreams  of 
otherwhereness  that  came  to  him  of  the  singing 
and  that  was  the  singing.  Memories  of  pain 
were  his,  but  of  pain  so  long  forgotten  that  it 
was  no  longer  pain.  Rather  did  it  permeate  him 
with  a  delicious  sadness,  and  lift  him  away  and 
out  of  the  Ariel  (lying  at  anchor  in  some  coral 
lagoon)  to  that  unreal  place  of  Otherwhere. 


JERRY  307 

For  visions  were  his  at  such  times.  In  the 
cold  bleakness  of  night,  it  would  seem  he  sat  on 
a  bare  hill  and  raised  his  howl  to  the  stars,  while 
out  of  the  dark,  from  far  away,  would  drift  to 
him  an  answering  howl.  And  other  howls,  near 
and  far,  would  drift  along  until  the  night  was 
vocal  with  his  kind.  His  kind  it  was.  Without 
knowing  it,  he  knew  it,  this  camaraderie  of  the 
land  of  Otherwhere. 

Nalasu,  in  teaching  him  the  whiff-whuff  lan 
guage,  deliberately  had  gone  into  the  intelligence 
of  him;  but  Villa,  unwitting  of  what  she  was  do 
ing,  went  into  the  heart  of  him,  and  into  the 
heart  of  his  heredity,  touching  the  profoundest 
chords  of  ancient  memories  and  making  them  re 
spond. 

As  instance:  dim  shapes  and  shadowy  forms 
would  sometimes  appear  to  him  out  of  the  night, 
and  as  they  flitted  spectrally  past  he  would  hear, 
as  in  a  dream,  the  hunting  cries  of  the  pack;  and,  as 
his  pulse  quickened,  his  own  hunting  instinct  would 
rouse  until  his  controlled  soft-howling  in  the  song 
broke  into  eager  whinings.  His  head  would 
lower  out  of  the  entanglement  of  the  woman's 
hair;  his  feet  would  begin  making  restless,  spas 
modic  movements  as  if  running;  and  presto,  in 
a  flash,  he  would  be  out  and  away,  across  the 


308  JERRY 

face  of  time,  out  of  reality  and  into  the  dream, 
himself  running  in  the  midst  of  those  shadowy 
forms  in  the  hunting  fellowship  of  the  pack. 

And  as  men  have  ever  desired  the  dust  of  the 
poppy  and  the  juice  of  the  hemp,  so  Jerry  de 
sired  the  joys  that  were  his  when  Villa  Kennan 
opened  her  arms  to  him,  embraced  him  with  her 
hair,  and  sang  him  across  time  and  space  into  the 
dream  of  his  ancient  kind. 

Not  always,  however,  were  such  experiences  his 
when  they  sang  together.  Usually,  unaccom 
panied  by  visions,  he  knew  no  more  than  vague 
nesses  of  sensations,  sadly  sweet,  ghosts  of  mem 
ories  that  they  were.  At  other  times,  incited  by 
such  sadness,  images  of  Skipper  and  Mister  Hag- 
gin  would  throng  his  mind;  images,  too,  of  Ter- 
rence,  and  Biddy,  and  Michael,  and  the  rest  of 
the  long-vanished  life  of  Meringe  Plantation. 

"  My  dear,"  Harley  said  to  Villa  at  the  con 
clusion  of  one  such  singing,  "  it's  fortunate  for 
him  that  you  are  not  an  animal  trainer,  or,  rather, 
I  suppose,  it  would  be  better  called  '  trained  ani 
mal  show-woman  ' ;  for  you'd  be  topping  the  bill 
in  all  the  music  halls  and  vaudeville  houses  of  the 
world." 

"  If  I  did,"  she  replied,  "  I  know  he'd  just  love 
to  do  it  with  me  — " 


JERRY  309 

"  Which  would  make  it  a  very  unusual  turn," 
Harley  caught  her  up. 

"You  mean  .  .  .?" 

"  That  in  about  one  turn  in  a  hundred  does  the 
animal  love  its  work  or  is  the  animal  loved  by  its 
trainer." 

"  I  thought  all  the  cruelty  had  been  done  away 
with  long  ago,"  she  continued. 

"  So  the  audience  thinks,  and  the  audience  is 
ninety-nine  times  wrong." 

Villa  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  renunciation  as 
she  said,  "  Then  I  suppose  I  must  abandon  such 
promising  and  lucrative  career  right  now  in  the 
very  moment  you  have  discovered  it  for  me.  Just 
the  same  the  billboards  would  look  splendid  with 
my  name  in  the  hugest  letters  — " 

"  Villa  Kennan  the  Thrush-throated  Song 
stress,  and  Sing  Song  Silly  the  Irish-Terrier 
Tenor,"  her  husband  pictured  the  head-lines  for 
her. 

And  with  dancing  eyes  and  lolling  tongue  Jerry 
joined  in  the  laughter,  not  because  he  knew  what 
it  was  about,  but  because  it  tokened  they  were 
happy  and  his  love  prompted  him  to  be  happy 
with  them. 

For  Jerry  had  found,  and  in  the  uttermost, 
what  his  nature  craved  —  the  love  of  a  god. 


3io  JERRY 

Recognising  the  duality  of  their  lordship  over 
the  Ariel,  he  loved  the  pair  of  them;  yet,  some 
how,  perhaps  because  she  had  penetrated  deepest 
into  his  heart  with  her  magic  voice  that  trans 
ported  him  to  the  land  of  Otherwhere,  he  loved 
the  lady-god  beyond  all  love  he  had  ever  known, 
not  even  excluding  his  love  for  Skipper. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ONE  thing  Jerry  learned  early  on  the  Ariel, 
namely,  that  nigger-chasing  was  not  per 
mitted.  Eager  to  please  and  serve  his  new  gods, 
he  took  advantage  of  the  first  opportunity  to 
worry  a  canoe-load  of  blacks  who  came  visiting  on 
board.  The  quick  chiding  of  Villa  and  the  com 
mand  of  Harley  made  him  pause  in  amazement. 
Fully  believing  he  had  been  mistaken,  he  resumed 
his  ragging  of  the  particular  black  he  had  picked 
upon.  This  time  Harley's  voice  was  peremptory, 
and  Jerry  came  to  him,  his  wagging  tail  and  wrig 
gling  body  all  eagerness  of  apology,  as  was  his 
rose-strip  of  tongue  that  kissed  the  hand  of  for 
giveness  with  which  Harley  patted  him. 

Next,  Villa  called  him  to  her.  Holding  him 
close  to  her  with  her  hands  on  his  jowls,  eye  to 
eye  and  nose  to  nose,  she  talked  to  him  earnestly 
about  the  sin  of  nigger-chasing.  She  told  him 
that  he  was  no  common  bush-dog,  but  a  blooded 
Irish  gentleman,  and  that  no  dog  that  was  a  gentle 
man  ever  did  such  things  as  chase  unoffending 
black  men.  To  all  of  which  he  listened  with  un- 


3i2  JERRY 

blinking  serious  eyes,  understanding  Httle  of  what 
she  said,  yet  comprehending  all.  "  Naughty  " 
was  a  word  in  the  Ariel  language  he  had  already 
learned,  and  she  used  it  several  times. 
"  Naughty,"  to  him,  meant  u  must  not,"  and  was 
by  way  of  expressing  a  taboo. 

Since  it  was  their  way  and  their  will,  who  was 
he,  he  might  well  have  asked  himself,  to  disobey 
their  rule  or  question  it?  If  niggers  were  not  to 
be  chased,  then  chase  them  he  would  not,  despite 
the  fact  that  Skipper  had  encouraged  him  to  chase 
them.  Not  in  such  set  terms  did  Jerry  consider 
the  matter;  but  in  his  own  way  he  accepted  the 
conclusions. 

Love  of  a  god,  with  him,  implied  service.  It 
pleased  him  to  please  with  service.  And  the 
foundation  stone  of  service,  in  his  case,  was  obe 
dience.  Yet  it  strained  him  sore  for  a  time  to  re 
frain  from  snarl  and  snap  when  the  legs  of  strange 
and  presumptuous  blacks  passed  near  him  along 
the  Ariel's  white  deck. 

But  there  were  times  and  times,  as  he  was  to 
learn,  and  the  time  came  when  Villa  Kennan 
wanted  a  bath,  a  real  bath  in  fresh,  rain-descended, 
running  water,  and  when  Johnny,  the  black  pilot 
from  Tulagi,  made  a  mistake.  The  chart  showed 
a  mile  of  the  Suli  River  where  it  emptied  into  the 


JERRY  313 

sea.  Why  it  showed  only  a  mile  was  because  no 
white  man  had  ever  explored  it  farther.  When 
Villa  proposed  the  bath,  her  husband  advised  with 
Johnny.  Johnny  shook  his  head. 

"  No  fella  boy  stop'm  along  that  place,"  he 
said.  "  No  make'm  trouble  along  you.  Bush 
fella  boy  stop'm  long  way  too  much." 

So  it  was  that  the  launch  went  ashore,  and, 
while  its  crew  lolled  in  the  shade  of  the  beach 
cocoanuts,  Villa,  Harley  and  Jerry  followed  the 
river  inland  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  first  likely 
pool. 

"  One  can  never  be  too  sure,"  Harley  said,  tak 
ing  his  automatic  pistol  from  its  holster  and  plac 
ing  it  on  top  his  heap  of  clothes.  A  stray  bunch 
of  blacks  might  just  happen  to  surprise  us." 

Villa  stepped  into  the  water  to  her  knees,  looked 
up  at  the  dark  jungle  roof  high  overhead  through 
which  only  occasional  shafts  of  sunlight  pene 
trated,  and  shuddered. 

"  An  appropriate  setting  for  a  dark  deed,"  she 
smiled,  then  scooped  a  handful  of  chill  water 
against  her  husband,  who  plunged  in  in  pursuit. 

For  a  time  Jerry  sat  by  their  clothes  and 
watched  the  frolic.  Then  the  drifting  shadow  of 
a  huge  butterfly  attracted  his  attention,  and  soon 
he  was  nosing  through  the  jungle  on  the  trail  of  a 


314  JERRY 

wood  rat.  It  was  not  a  very  fresh  trail.  He 
knew  that  well  enough;  but  in  the  deeps  of  him 
were  all  his  instincts  of  ancient  training  —  in 
stincts  to  hunt,  to  prowl,  to  pursue  living  things,  in 
short,  to  play  the  game  of  getting  his  own  meat 
though  for  ages  man  had  got  the  meat  for  him 
and  his  kind. 

So  it  was,  exercising  faculties  that  were  no 
longer  necessary  but  that  were  still  alive  in  him 
and  clamorous  for  exercise,  he  followed  the  long- 
since-passed  wood  rat  with  all  the  soft-footed, 
crouching  craft  of  the  meat-pursuer  and  with  ut 
most  fineness  of  reading  the  scent.  The  trail 
crossed  a  fresh  trail,  a  trail  very  fresh,  very  imme 
diately  fresh.  As  if  a  rope  had  been  attached  to 
it,  his  head  was  jerked  abruptly  to  right  angles 
with  his  body.  The  unmistakable  smell  of  a  black 
was  in  his  nostrils.  Further,  it  was  a  strange 
black,  for  he  did  not  identify  it  with  the  many  he 
possessed  filed  away  in  the  pigeon-holes  of  his 
brain. 

Forgotten  was  the  stale  wood  rat  as  he  fol 
lowed  the  new  trail.  Curiosity  and  play  impelled 
him.  He  had  no  thought  of  apprehension  for 
Villa  and  Harley  —  not  even  when  he  reached  the 
spot  where  the  black,  evidently  startled  by  hearing 
their  voices,  had  stood  and  debated,  and  so,  left 


JERRY  315 

a  very  strong  scent.  From  this  point  the  trail 
swerved  off  toward  the  pool.  Nervously  alert, 
strung  to  extreme  tension,  but  without  alarm,  still 
playing  at  the  game  of  tracking,  Jerry  followed. 

From  the  pool  came  occasional  cries  and  laugh 
ter,  and  each  time  they  reached  his  ears  Jerry 
experienced  glad  little  thrills.  Had  he  been 
asked,  and  had  he  been  able  to  express  the  sensa 
tions  of  emotion  in  terms  of  thought,  he  would 
have  said  that  the  sweetest  sound  in  the  world  was 
any  sound  of  Villa  Kennan's  voice,  and  that,  next 
sweetest,  was  any  sound  of  Harley  Kennan's  voice. 
Their  voices  thrilled  him,  always,  reminding  him 
of  his  love  for  them  and  that  he  was  beloved  of 
them. 

With  the  first  sight  of  the  strange  black,  which 
occurred  close  to  the  pool,  Jerry's  suspicions  were 
aroused.  He  was  not  conducting  himself  as  an 
ordinary  black,  not  on  evil  intent,  should  conduct 
himself.  Instead,  he  betrayed  all  the  actions  of 
one  who  lurked  in  the  perpetration  of  harm.  He 
crouched  on  the  jungle  floor,  peering  around  a 
gre,at  root  of  a  board  tree.  Jerry  bristled  and 
himself  crouched  as  he  watched. 

Once,  the  black  raised  his  rifle  half  way  to  his 
shoulder;  but,  with  an  outburst  of  splashing  and 
laughter,  his  unconscious  victims  evidently  re- 


3i6  JERRY 

moved  themselves  from  his  field  of  vision.  His 
rifle  was  no  old-fashioned  Snider,  but  a  modern, 
repeating  Winchester;  and  he  showed  habituation 
to  firing  it  from  his  shoulder  rather  than  from  the 
hip  after  the  manner  of  most  Malaitans. 

Not  satisfied  with  his  position  by  the  board  tree, 
he  lowered  gun  to  side  and  crept  closer  to  the 
pool.  Jerry  crouched  low  and  followed.  So  low 
did  he  crouch  that  his  head,  extended  horizon 
tally  forward,  was  much  lower  than  his  shoulders 
which  were  humped  up  queerly  and  composed  the 
highest  part  of  him.  When  the  black  paused, 
Jerry  paused,  as  if  instantly  frozen.  When  the 
black  moved,  he  moved,  but  more  swiftly,  cutting 
down  the  distance  between  them.  And  all  the 
while  the  hair  of  his  neck  and  shoulders  bristled 
in  recurrent  waves  of  ferocity  and  wrath.  No 
golden  dog  this,  ears  flattened  and  tongue  laugh 
ing  in  the  arms  of  the  lady-god,  no  Sing  Song  Silly 
chanting  ancient  memories  in  the  cloud-entangle 
ment  of  her  hair;  but  a  four-legged  creature 
of  battle,  a  fanged  killer  ripe  to  rend  and  de 
stroy. 

Jerry  intended  to  attack  as  soon  as  he  had  crept 
sufficiently  near.  He  was  unaware  of  the  Ariel 
taboo  against  nigger-chasing.  At  that  moment  it 
had  no  place  in  his  consciousness.  All  he  knew 


JERRY  317 

was  that  harm  threatened  the  man  and  woman  and 
that  this  nigger  intended  this  harm. 

So  much  had  Jerry  gained  on  his  quarry,  that 
when  again  the  black  squatted  for  his  shot,  Jerry 
deemed  he  was  near  enough  to  rush.  The  rifle 
was  coming  to  shoulder  when  he  sprang  forward. 
Swiftly  as  he  sprang,  he  made  no  sound,  and  his 
victim's  first  warning  was  when  Jerry's  body, 
launched  like  a  projectile,  smote  the  black  squarely 
between  the  shoulders.  At  the  same  moment  his 
teeth  entered  the  back  of  the  neck,  but  too  near 
the  base  in  the  lumpy  shoulder  muscles  to  permit 
the  fangs  to  penetrate  to  the  spinal  cord. 

In  the  first  fright  of  surprise,  the  black's  finger 
pulled  the  trigger  and  his  throat  loosed  an  un 
earthly  yell.  Knocked  forward  on  his  face,  he 
rolled  over  and  grappled  with  Jerry,  who  slashed 
cheek  bone  and  cheek  and  ribboned  an  ear;  for  it 
is  the  way  of  an  Irish  terrier  to  bite  repeatedly  and 
quickly  rather  than  to  hold  a  bulldog  grip. 

When  Harley  Kennan,  automatic  in  hand  and 
naked  as  Adam,  reached  the  spot,  he  found  dog 
and  man  locked  together  and  tearing  up  the  forest 
mould  in  their  struggle.  The  black,  his  face 
streaming  blood,  was  throttling  Jerry  with  both 
hands  around  his  neck ;  and  Jerry,  snorting,  chok 
ing,  snarling,  was  scratching  for  dear  life  with  the 


3i8  JERRY 

claws  of  his  hind  feet.  No  puppy  claws  were 
they,  but  the  stout  claws  of  a  mature  dog  that  were 
stiffened  by  a  backing  of  hard  muscles.  And 
they  ripped  naked  chest  and  abdomen  full  length 
again  and  again  until  the  whole  front  of  the  man 
was  streaming  red. 

Harley  Kennan  did  not  dare  chance  a  shot,  so 
closely  were  the  combatants  locked.  Instead, 
stepping  in  close,  he  smashed  down  the  butt  of  his 
automatic  upon  the  side  of  the  man's  head.  Re 
leased  by  the  relaxing  of  the  stunned  black's  hands, 
Jerry  flung  himself  in  a  flash  upon  the  exposed 
throat,  and  only  Harley's  hand  on  his  neck  and 
Harley's  sharp  command  made  him  cease  and 
stand  clear.  He  trembled  with  rage  and  con 
tinued  to  snarl  ferociously,  although  he  would  de 
sist  long  enough  to  glance  up  with  his  eyes,  flatten 
his  ears,  and  wag  his  tail  each  time  Harley  uttered 
"  Good  boy." 

"  Good  boy,"  he  knew  for  praise;  and  he  knew 
beyond  any  doubt,  by  Harley's  repetition  of  it, 
that  he  had  served  him  and  served  him  well. 

"  Do  you  know  the  beggar  intended  to  bush 
whack  us,"  Harley  told  Villa,  who,  half  dressed 
and  still  dressing,  had  joined  him.  "  It  wasn't 
fifty  feet  and  he  couldn't  have  missed.  Look  at 
the  Winchester.  No  old  smooth  bore.  And  a 


JERRY  319 

fellow  with  a  gun  like  that  would  know  how  to  use 


it." 


"  But  why  didn't  he?  "  she  queried. 

Her  husband  pointed  to  Jerry. 

Villa's  eyes  brightened  with  quick  comprehen 
sion.  "  You  mean  ...  ?  "  he  began 

He  nodded.  "  Just  that.  Sing  Song  Silly  beat 
him  to  it."  He  bent,  rolled  the  man  over,  and 
discovered  the  lacerated  back  of  the  neck. 
'  That's  where  he  landed  on  him  first,  and  he  must 
have  had  his  finger  on  the  trigger,  drawing  down 
on  you  and  me,  most  likely  me  first,  when  Sing 
Song  Silly  broke  up  his  calculations." 

Villa  was  only  half  hearing,  for  she  had  Jerry 
in  her  arms  and  was  calling  him  "  Blessed  Dog  " 
the  while  she  stilled  his  snarling  and  soothed  down 
the  last  bristling  hair. 

But  Jerry  snarled  again  and  was  for  leaping 
upon  the  black  when  he  stirred  restlessly  and  diz 
zily  sat  up.  Harley  removed  a  knife  from  be 
tween  the  bare  skin  and  a  belt. 

'*  What  name  belong  you?  "  he  demanded. 

But  the  black  had  eyes  only  for  Jerry,  and 
stared  at  him  in  wondering  amaze  until  he  pieced 
the  situation  together  in  his  growing  clarity  of 
brain  and  realised  that  such  a  small  chunky  animal 
had  spoiled  his  game. 


320  JERRY 

"  My  word,"  he  grinned  to  Harley,  "  that  fella 
dog  put'm  crimp  along  me  any  amount." 

He  felt  out  the  wounds  of  his  neck  and  face, 
while  his  eyes  embraced  the  fact  that  the  white 
master  was  in  possession  of  his  rifle. 

'  You  give'm  musket  belong  me,"  he  said  im 
pudently. 

"  I  give'm  you  bang  alongside  head,"  Harley 
returned. 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  be  a  regular 
Malaitan,"  he  told  Villa.  "  In  the  first  place, 
where  would  he  get  a  rifle  like  that?  Then  think 
of  his  nerve.  He  must  have  seen  us  drop  anchor, 
and  he  must  have  known  our  launch  was  on  the 
beach.  Yet  he  played  to  take  our  heads  and  get 
away  with  them  back  into  the  bush — " 

"What  name  belong  you?"  he  again  de 
manded. 

But  not  until  Johnny  and  the  launch  crew  ar 
rived  breathless  from  their  run,  did  he  learn. 
Johnny's  eyes  gloated  when  he  beheld  the  pris 
oner,  and  he  addressed  Kennan  in  evident  excite 
ment. 

"  You  give'm  me  that  fella  boy,"  he  begged. 
"  Eh?  You  give'm  me  that  fella  boy." 

"  What  name  you  want'm?  " 

Not  for  some  time  would  Johnny  answer  this 


JERRY  321 

question,  and  then,  only  when  Kennan  told  him 
that  there  was  no  harm  done  and  that  he  intended 
to  let  the  black  go.  At  this  Johnny  protested 
vehemently. 

"  Maybe  you  fetch'm  that  fella  boy  along  Gov 
ernment  House,  Tulagi,  Government  House  give 
'm  you  twenty  pounds.  Him  plenty  bad  fella  boy 
too  much.  Makawao  he  name  stop  along  him. 
Bad  fella  boy  too  much.  Him  Queensland 
boy  — " 

"What  name  Queensland?"  Kennan  inter 
rupted.  "  He  belong  that  fella  place?  " 

Johnny  shook  his  head. 

"  Him  belong  along  Malaita  first  time.  Long 
time  before  too  much  he  recruit'm  along  schooner 
go  work  along  Queensland." 

"  He's  a  return  Queenslander,"  Harley  inter 
preted  to  Villa.  "  You  know,  when  Australia 
went  *  all  white/  the  Queensland  plantations  had 
to  send  all  the  blackbirds  back.  This  Makawao 
is  evidently  one  of  them,  and  a  hard  case  as  well, 
if  there's  anything  in  Johnny's  gammon  about 
twenty  pounds'  reward  for  him.  That's  a  big 
price  for  a  black." 

Johnny  continued  his  explanation  which,  re 
duced  to  flat  and  sober  English,  was  to  the  effect 
that  Makawao  had  always  borne  a  bad  character. 


322  JERRY 

Iii  Queensland  he  had  served  a  total  of  four  years 
in  jail  for  thefts,  robberies,  and  attempted  mur 
der.  Returned  to  the  Solomons  by  the  Australian 
Government,  he  had  recruited  on  Buli  Plantation 
for  the  purpose  —  as  was  afterward  proved  —  of 
getting  arms  and  ammunition.  For  an  attempt  to 
kill  the  manager  he  had  received  fifty  lashes  at 
Tulagi  and  served  a  year.  Returned  to  Buli 
Plantation  to  finish  his  labour  service,  he  had  con 
trived  to  kill  the  owner  in  the  manager's  absence 
and  to  escape  in  a  whaleboat. 

In  the  whaleboat  with  him  he  had  taken  all  the 
weapons  and  ammunition  of  the  plantation,  the 
manager's  head,  ten  Malaita  recruits,  and  two  re 
cruits  from  San  Cristobal  —  the  two  last  because 
they  were  salt-water  men  and  could  handle  the 
whaleboat.  Himself  and  the  ten  Malaitans,  be 
ing  bushmen,  were  too  ignorant  of  the  sea  to  dare 
the  long  passage  from  Guadalcanar. 

On  the  way,  he  had  raided  the  little  islet  of  Ugi, 
sacked  the  store,  and  taken  the  head  of  the  soli 
tary  trader,  a  gentle-souled  half  caste  from  Nor 
folk  Island  who  traced  back  directly  to  a  Pitcairn 
ancestry  straight  from  the  loins  of  McCoy  of  the 
Bounty.  Arrived  safely  at  Malaita,  he  and  his 
fellows,  no  longer  having  any  use  for  the  two  San 


JERRY  323 

Cristobal  boys,  had  taken  their  heads  and  eaten 
their  bodies. 

u  My  word,  him  bad  fella  boy  any  amount," 
Johnny  finished  his  tale.  "  Government  House, 
Tulagi,  damn  glad  give'm  twenty  pounds  along 
that  fella." 

"  You  blessed  Sing  Song  Silly,"  Vila  murmured 
in  Jerry's  ears.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  — " 

"  Your  head  and  mine  would  even  now  be 
galumping  through  the  bush  as  Makawao  hit  the 
high  places  for  home,"  Harley  concluded  for  her. 
41  My  word,  some  fella  dog  that,  any  amount,"  he 
added  lightly.  "  And  I  gave  him  merry  Ned  just 
the  other  day  for  nigger-chasing,  and  he  knew  his 
business  better  than  I  did  all  the  time." 

"  If  anybody  tries  to  claim  him  — "  Villa  threat 
ened. 

Harley  confirmed  her  muttered  sentiment  with 
a  nod. 

"  Any  way,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "  there  would 
have  been  one  consolation  if  your  head  had  gone 
up  into  the  bush." 

"  Consolation !  "  she  cried,  throaty  with  indig 
nation. 

"  Why,  yes;  because  in  that  case  my  head  would 
have  gone  along." 


324  JERRY 

"  You  dear  and  blessed  Husband-Man,"  she 
murmured,  a  quick  cloudiness  of  moisture  in  her 
eyes  as  with  her  eyes  she  embraced  him,  her  arms 
still  around  Jerry,  who,  seeing  the  ecstasy  of  the 
moment,  kissed  her  fragrant  cheek  with  his  rib 
bon-tongue  of  love. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

WHEN  the  Ariel  cleared  from  Malu,  on  the 
northwest  coast  of  Malaita,  Malaita 
sank  down  beneath  the  sea-rim  astern  and,  so  far 
as  Jerry's  life  was  concerned,  remained  sunk  for 
ever  —  another  vanished  world,  that,  in  his  con 
sciousness,  partook  of  the  ultimate  nothingness 
that  had  befallen  Skipper.  For  all  Jerry  might 
have  known,  though  he  pondered  it  not,  Malaita 
was  a  universe,  beheaded  and  resting  on  the  knees 
of  some  brooding  lesser  god,  himself  vastly 
mightier  than  Bashti  whose  knees  bore  the  brood 
ing  weight  of  Skipper's  sun-dried,  smoke-cured 
head,  this  lesser  god  vexed  and  questing,  feeling 
and  guessing  at  the  dual  twin-mysteries  of  time 
and  space  and  of  motion  and  matter,  above,  be 
neath,  around,  and  beyond  him. 

Only,  in  Jerry's  case,  there  was  no  pondering  of 
the  problem,  no  awareness  of  the  existence  of  such 
mysteries.  He  merely  accepted  Malaita  as  an 
other  world  that  had  ceased  to  be.  He  remem 
bered  it  as  he  remembered  dreams.  Himself  a 
live  thing,  solid  and  substantial,  possessed  of 

325 


326  JERRY 

weight  and  dimension,  a  reality  incontrovertible, 
he  moved  through  the  space  and  place  of  being, 
concrete,  hard,  quick,  convincing,  an  absoluteness 
of  something  surrounded  by  the  shades  and  shad 
ows  of  the  fluxing  phantasmagoria  of  nothing. 

He  took  his  worlds  one  by  one.  One  by  one  his 
worlds  evaporated,  rose  beyond  his  vision  as 
vapours  in  the  hot  alembic  of  the  sun,  sank  for 
ever  beneath  sea  levels,  themselves  unreal  and 
passing  as  the  phantoms  of  a  dream.  The 
totality  of  the  simple,  minute  world  of  the  human, 
microscopic  and  negligible  as  it  was  in  the  sidereal 
universe,  was  as  far  beyond  his  guessing  as  is  the 
sidereal  universe  beyond  the  starriest  guesses  and 
most  abysmal  imaginings  of  man. 

Jerry  was  never  to  see  the  dark  island  of  sav 
agery  again,  although  often  in  his  sleeping  dreams, 
it  was  to  return  to  him  in  vivid  illusion,  as  he  re 
lived  his  days  upon  it,  from  the  destruction  of  the 
Arangi  and  the  man-eating  orgy  on  the  beach  to 
his  flight  from  the  shell-scattered  house  and  flesh 
of  Nalasu.  These  dream  episodes  constituted  for 
him  another  land  of  Otherwhere,  mysterious,  un 
real  and  evanescent  as  clouds  drifting  across  the 
sky  or  bubbles  taking  iridescent  form  and  burst 
ing  on  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Froth  and  foam 
it  was,  quick-vanishing  as  he  awoke,  non-existent 


JERRY  327 

as  Skipper,  Skipper's  head  on  the  withered  knees 
of  Bashti  in  the  lofty  grass  house.  Malaita  the 
real,  Malaita  the  concrete  and  ponderable,  van 
ished  and  vanished  forever,  as  Meringe  had  van 
ished,  as  Skipper  had  vanished,  into  the  nothing 
ness. 

From  Malaita  the  Ariel  steered  west  of  north 
to  Ongtong  Java  and  to  Tasman  —  great  atolls 
that  sweltered  under  the  Line  not  quite  awash  in 
the  vast  waste  of  the  West  South  Pacific.  After 
Tasman  was  another  wide  sea-stretch  to  the  high 
island  of  Bougainville.  Thence,  bearing  gener 
ally  southeast  and  making  slow  progress  in  the 
dead  beat  to  windward,  the  Ariel  dropped  anchor 
in  nearly  every  harbour  of  the  Solomons,  from 
Choiseul  and  Ronongo  Islands,  to  the  islands 
of  Kulambangra,  Vangunu,  Pavuvu,  and  New 
Georgia.  Even  did  she  ride  to  anchor,  desolately 
lonely,  in  the  Bay  of  a  Thousand  Ships. 

Last  of  all,  so  far  as  concerned  the  Solomons, 
her  anchor  rumbkd  down  and  bit  into  the  coral- 
sanded  bottom  of  the  harbour  of  Tulagi,  where, 
ashore  on  Florida  Island,  lived  and  ruled  the  Resi 
dent  Commissioner. 

To  the  Commissioner,  Harley  Kennan  duly 
turned  over  Makawao,  who  was  committed  to  a 
grass-house  jail,  well  guarded,  to  sit  in  leg-irons 


328  JERRY 

against  the  time  of  trial  for  his  many  crimes. 
And  Johnny,  the  pilot,  ere  he  returned  to  the 
service  of  the  Commissioner,  received  a  fair  por 
tion  of  the  twenty  pounds  of  head  money  that 
Kennan  divided  among  the  members  of  the  launch 
crew  who  had  raced  through  the  jungle  to  the 
rescue  the  day  Jerry  had  taken  Makawao  by  the 
back  of  the  neck  and  startled  him  into  pulling  the 
trigger  of  his  unaimed  rifle. 

"  I'll  tell  you  his  name,"  the  Commissioner  said, 
as  they  sat  on  the  wide  veranda  of  his  bungalow. 
"  It's  one  of  Haggin's  terriers  —  Haggin  of 
Meringe  Lagoon.  The  dog's  father  is  Terrence, 
the  mother  is  Biddy.  The  dog's  own  name  is 
Jerry,  for  I  was  present  at  the  christening  before 
ever  his  eyes  were  open.  Better  yet,  I'll  show  you 
his  brother.  His  brother's  name  is  Michael. 
He's  nigger-chaser  on  the  Eugenie,  the  two-top 
mast  schooner  that  rides  abreast  of  you.  Captain 
Kellar  is  the  skipper.  I'll  have  him  bring  Michael 
ashore.  Beyond  all  doubt,  this  Jerry  is  the  sole 
survivor  of  the  Arangi. 

"  When  I  get  the  time,  and  a  sufficient  margin 
of  funds,  I  shall  pay  a  visit  to  Chief  Bashti  — 
oh,  no  British  cruiser  programme.  I'll  charter  a 
couple  of  trading  ketches,  take  my  own  black 
police  force  and  as  many  white  men  as  I  cannot 


JERRY  329 

prevent  from  volunteering.  There  won't  be  any 
shelling  of  grass  houses.  I'll  land  my  shore  party 
down  the  coast  and  cut  in  and  come  down  upon 
Somo  from  the  rear,  timing  my  vessels  to  arrive 
on  Somo's  seafront  at  the  same  time." 

"You  will  answer  slaughter  with  slaughter?" 
Villa  Kennan  objected. 

"  I  will  answer  slaughter  with  law,"  the  Com 
missioner  came  back.  "  I  will  teach  Somo  law.  I 
hope  that  no  accidents  will  occur.  I  hope  that  no 
life  will  be  lost  on  either  side.  I  know,  however, 
that  I  shall  recover  Captain  Van  Horn's  head,  and 
his  mate  Borckman's,  and  bring  them  back  to 
Tulagi  for  Christian  burial.  I  know  that  I  shall 
get  old  Bashti  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  sit  him 
down  while  I  pump  law  and  square-dealing  into 
him.  Of  course  .  .  ." 

The  Commissioner,  ascetic-looking,  an  Oxford 
graduate,  narrow-shouldered  and  elderly,  tired- 
eyed  and  bespectacled  like  the  scholar  he  was,  like 
the  scientist  he  was,  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Of 
course,  if  they  are  not  amenable  to  reason,  there 
may  be  trouble,  and  some  of  them  and  some  of  us 
will  get  hurt.  But,  one  way  or  the  other,  the  con 
clusion  will  be  the  same.  Old  Bashti  will  learn 
that  it  is  expedient  to  maintain  white  men's  heads 
on  their  shoulders." 


330  JERRY 

"  But  how  will  he  learn?  "  Villa  Kennan  asked. 
"  If  he  is  shrewd  enough  not  to  fight  you,  and 
merely  sits  and  listens  to  your  English  law,  it  will 
be  no  more  than  a  huge  joke  to  him.  He  will  no 
more  than  pay  the  price  of  listening  to  a  lecture  for 
any  atrocity  he  commits." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  Mrs.  Kennan.  If 
he  listens  peaceably  to  the  lecture,  I  shall  fine  him 
only  a  hundred  thousand  cocoanuts,  five  tons  of 
ivory  nut,  one  hundred  fathoms  of  shell  money, 
and  twenty  fat  pigs.  If  he  refuses  to  listen  to  the 
lecture  and  goes  on  the  war-path,  then,  unpleas 
antly  for  me,  I  assure  you,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
thrash  him  and  his  village,  first;  and,  next,  I  shall 
triple  the  fine  he  must  pay  and  lecture  the  law 
into  him  a  trifle  more  compendiously." 

"  Suppose  he  doesn't  fight,  stops  his  ears  to  the 
lecture,  and  declines  to  pay?  "  Villa  Kennan  per 
sisted. 

"  Then  he  shall  be  my  guest,  here  in  Tulagi,  un 
til  he  changes  his  mind  and  heart,  and  does  pay, 
and  listens  to  an  entire  course  of  lectures. " 

So  it  was  that  Jerry  came  to  hear  his  old-time 
name  on  the  lips  of  Villa  and  Harley,  and  saw 
once  again  his  full-brother  Michael. 

"  Say  nothing,"  Harley  muttered  to  Villa,  as 


JERRY  331 

they  made  out,  peering  over  the  bow  of  the  shore- 
coming  whaleboat,  the  rough  coat,  red-wheaten  in 
colour,  of  Michael.  "  We  won't  know  anything 
about  anything,  and  we  won't  even  let  on  we're 
watching  what  they  do." 

Jerry,  feigning  interest  in  digging  a  hole  in  the 
sand  as  if  he  were  on  a  fresh  scent,  was  unaware 
of  Michael's  nearness.  In  fact,  so  well  had 
Jerry  feigned  that  he  had  forgotten  it  was  all  a 
game,  and  his  interest  was  very  real  as  he  sniffed 
and  snorted  joyously  in  the  bottom  of  the  hole  he 
had  dug.  So  deep  was  it,  that  all  he  showed  of 
himself  was  his  hind  legs,  his  rump,  and  an  intelli 
gent  and  stiffly  erect  stump  of  a  tail. 

Little  wonder  that  he  and  Michael  failed  to  see 
each  other.  And  Michael,  spilling  over  with  un 
used  vitality  from  the  cramped  space  of  the  Eu 
genie's  deck,  scampered  down  the  beach  in  a  hurly- 
burly  of  joy,  scenting  a  thousand  intimate  land- 
scents  as  he  ran,  and  describing  a  jerky  and  eccen 
tric  course  as  he  made  short  dashes  and  good-na 
tured  snaps  at  the  cocoanut  crabs  that  scuttled 
across  his  path  to  the  safety  of  the  water  or  reared 
up  and  menaced  him  with  formidable  claws  and  a 
spluttering  and  foaming  of  the  shell-lids  of  their 
mouths. 

The  beach  was  only  so  long.     And,  the  end  of 


332  JERRY 

it  reached  where  rose  the  rugged  wall  of  a  head 
land,  and  while  the  Commissioner  introduced  Cap 
tain  Kellar  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kennan,  Michael 
came  tearing  back  across  the  wet-hard  sand.  So 
interested  was  he  in  everything  that  he  failed  to 
notice  the  small  rear-end  portion  of  Jerry  that  was 
visible  above  the  level  surface  of  the  beach. 
Jerry's  ears  had  given  him  warning,  and,  the  pre 
cise  instant  that  he  backed  hurriedly  up  and  out  of 
the  hole,  Michael  collided  with  him.  As  Jerry 
was  rolled,  and  as  Michael  fell  clear  over  him, 
both  erupted  into  ferocious  snarls  and  growls. 
They  regained  their  legs,  bristled  and  showed 
teeth  at  each  other,  and  stalked  stiff-leggedly,  in  a 
stately  and  dignified  sort  of  way,  as  they  drew  in 
timidating  semi-circles  about  each  other. 

But  they  were  fooling  all  the  while,  and  were 
more  than  a  trifle  embarrassed.  For  in  each  of 
their  brains  were  bright  identification  pictures  of 
the  plantation  house  and  compound  and  beach  of 
Meringe.  They  knew,  but  they  were  reticent  of 
recognition.  No  longer  puppies,  vaguely  proud 
of  the  sedateness  of  maturity,  they  strove  to  be 
proud  and  sedate  while  all  their  impulse  was  to 
rush  together  in  a  frantic  ecstasy. 

Michael  it  was,  less  travelled  in  the  world  than 
Jerry,  by  nature  not  so  self-controlled,  who  threw 


JERRY  333 

the  play-acting  of  dignity  to  the  wind,  and,  with 
shrill  whinings  of  emotion,  with  body-wrigglinjgs 
of  delight,  flashed  out  his  tongue  of  love  and 
shouldered  his  brother  roughly  in  eagerness  to  get 
near  to  him. 

Jerry  responded  as  eagerly  with  kiss  of  tongue 
and  contact  of  shoulder;  then  both,  springing 
apart,  looked  at  each  other,  alert  and  querying, 
almost  in  half  challenge,  Jerry's  ears  pricked  into 
living  interrogations,  Michael's  one  good  ear  simi 
larly  questioning,  his  withered  ear  retaining  its 
permanent  queer  and  crinkly  cock  in  the  tip  of  it. 
As  one,  they  sprang  away  in  a  wild  scurry  down 
the  beach,  side  by  side,  laughing  to  each  other  and 
occasionally  striking  their  shoulders  together  as 
they  ran. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  Commissioner. 
"  The  very  way  their  father  and  mother  run.  I 
have  watched  them  often." 

But,  after  ten  days  of  comradeship,  came  the 
parting.  It  was  Michael's  first  visit  on  the  Ariel, 
and  he  and  Jerry  had  spent  a  frolicking  half-hour 
on  her  white  deck  amid  the  sound  and  commotion 
of  hoisting  in  boats,  making  sail,  and  heaving  out 
anchor.  As  the  Ariel  began  to  move  through  the 
water  and  heeled  to  the  filling  of  her  canvas  by 


334  JERRY 

the  brisk  trade-wind,  the  Commissioner  and  Cap 
tain  Kellar  shook  last  farewells  and  scrambled 
down  the  gangplank  to  their  waiting  whaleboats. 
At  the  last  moment  Captain  Kellar  had  caught 
Michael  up,  tucked  him  under  an  arm,  and  with 
him  dropped  into  the  sternsheets  of  his  whale- 
boat. 

Painters  were  cast  off,  and  in  the  sternsheets  of 
each  boat  solitary  white  men  were  standing  up, 
heads  bared  in  graciousness  of  conduct  to  the  fur 
nace-stab  of  the  tropic  sun,  as  they  waved  addi 
tional  and  final  farewells.  And  Michael,  swept 
by  the  contagion  of  excitement,  barked  and  barked 
again,  as  if  it  were  a  festival  of  the  gods  being 
celebrated. 

"  Say  good-bye  to  your  brother,  Jerry,"  Villa 
Kennan  prompted  in  Jerry's  ear,  as  she  held  him, 
his  quivering  flanks  between  her  two  palms,  on  the 
rail  where  she  had  lifted  him. 

And  Jerry,  not  understanding  her  speech,  torn 
about  with  conflicting  desires,  acknowledged  her 
speech  with  wriggling  body,  a  quick  back-toss  of 
head,  a  red  flash  of  kissing  tongue,  and,  the  next 
moment,  his  head  over  the  rail  and  lowered  to 
see  the  swiftly  diminishing  Michael,  was  mouthing 
grief  and  woe  very  much  akin  to  the  grief  and  woe 
his  mother,  Biddy,  had  mouthed  in  the  long  ago, 


JERRY  335 

on  the  beach  of  Meringe,  when  he  had  sailed  away 
with  Skipper. 

For  Jerry  had  learned  partings,  and  beyond  all 
peradventure  this  was  a  parting,  though  little  he 
dreamed  that  he  would  again  meet  Michael  across 
the  years  and  across  the  world,  in  a  fabled  valley 
of  far  California,  where  they  would  live  out 
their  days  in  the  hearts  and  arms  of  the  beloved 
gods. 

Michael,  his  forefeet  on  the  gunwale,  barked  to 
him  in  a  puzzled,  questioning  sort  of  way,  and 
Jerry  whimpered  back  incommunicable  under 
standing.  The  lady-god  pressed  his  two  flanks 
together  reassuringly,  and  he  turned  to  her,  his 
cool  nose  touched  questioningly  to  her  cheek.  She 
gathered  his  body  close  against  her  breast  in  one 
encircling  arm,  her  free  hand  resting  on  the  rail, 
half-closed,  a  pink-and-white  heart  of  flower,  fra 
grant  and  seducing.  Jerry's  nose  quested  the  way 
of  it.  The  aperture  invited.  With  snuggling, 
hudging,  and  nudging  movements  he  spread  the 
fingers  slightly  wider  as  his  nose  penetrated  into 
the  sheer  delight  and  loveliness  of  her  hand. 

He  came  to  rest,  his  golden  muzzle  soft-en 
folded  to  the  eyes,  and  was  very  still,  all  forgetful 
of  the  Ariel  showing  her  copper  to  the  sun  under 
the  press  of  the  wind,  all  forgetful  of  Michael 


336  JERRY 

growing  small  in  the  distance  as  the  whaleboat 
grew  small  astern.  No  less  still  was  Villa.  Both 
were  playing  the  game,  although  to  her  it  was 
new. 

As  long  as  he  could  possibly  contain  himself, 
Jerry  maintained  his  stillness.  Then,  his  love 
bursting  beyond  the  control  of  him,  he  gave  a 
sniff  —  as  prodigious  a  one  as  he  had  sniffed  into 
the  tunnel  of  Skipper's  hand  in  the  long  ago  on  the 
deck  of  the  Arangi.  And,  as  Skipper  had  re 
laxed  into  the  laughter  of  love,  so  did  the  lady- 
god  now.  She  gurgled  gleefully.  Her  fingers 
tightened,  in  a  caress  that  almost  hurt,  on  Jerry's 
muzzle.  Her  other  hand  and  arm  crushed  him 
against  her  till  he  gasped.  Yet  all  the  while  his 
stump  of  tail  valiantly  bobbed  back  and  forth, 
and,  when  released  from  such  blissful  contact,  his 
silky  ears  flattened  back  and  down  while,  with  first 
a  scarlet  slash  of  tongue  to  cheek,  he  seized  her 
hand  between  his  teeth  and  dented  the  soft  skin 
with  a  love  bite  that  did  not  hurt. 

And  so,  for  Jerry,  vanished  Tulagi,  its  Com 
missioner's  bungalow  on  top  the  hill,  its  vessels 
riding  to  anchor  in  the  harbour,  and  Michael,  his 
full  blood-brother.  He  had  grown  accustomed  to 
such  vanishments.  In  such  way  had  vanished,  as 
in  the  mirage  of  a  dream,  Meringe,  Somo,  and  the 


JERRY  337 

Arangi.  In  such  way  had  vanished  all  the  worlds 
and  harbours  and  roadsteads  and  atoll  lagoons 
where  the  Ariel  had  lifted  her  laid  anchor  and 
gone  on  across  and  over  the  erasing  sea-rim. 


THE    END 


PRINTED   IN   THE  UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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} 

?JL'56IW 
JUL 

JUL  24  1958 
FEB  20 


REC'D  L.O 

AUG3    I960 


ro  LD 
MAY  1 1  1962 


RECD  i- 

'65"' 

0V  2  6  1965     6 


RfeC'D 


::',•: 


D    LD 


2004 


SEF 


LD  21- 


'49(B7146sl6)476 


OAN  D£PT, 


JUN  9  q  1999 


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